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HXHeUeele^ /Ilba^me 


Alfred de Vigny Vida D. Scudder .... 421 

Jeremiah K. B. Bead, '99 .... 429 

Matthew Arnold's Letters . . . . G. L. Cook, '99 .... 432 

Cjedmon I. H. F, '96 437 

Tennis Tea Edith Orr, '98 .... 437 

Worth Remembering Grace M. Dennison . . . 440 

A Fellow-Boarder F., '96 444 

Uncle Remus' s Lost Opportunity . . . E. V. Patterson .... 444 

On Shipboard E. Loudon, '96 . . . . 446 

Sketches Florence McM. Painter . . 447 

Correspondence Frances E. Hildreth, '95 . . 447 

Editorials . 451 

The College Beautiful? 456 

Free Press 461 

Exchanges 467 

Book Reviews 469 

Books Received 472 

Society Notes 473 

College Notes 475 

College Bulletin 478 

Alumnae Notes 478 

Births 484 

Deaths 484 

idol in) — fll>a\> t 1896 — mo, 8 

Entered in the Post Office at Wellesley, Masa., as second-class matter . 



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The Wellesley Magazine. 

Vol. IV. WELLESLEY, MAY 16, 1896. No. 8. 








The Wellesley Magazine is published monthly, from October to June, by a board of editors 
chosen from the Senior Class. 

All literary contributions may be sent to Miss. G. M. Dennison, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All items of college interest, and communications to be inserted in the department of Free Press, 
will be received by Miss Mary Haskell, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

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Advertising business is conducted by Miss Annie H. Peaks, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Subscriptions to the Magazine and other business communications should in all cases be sent to 
Miss Cora F. Stoddard, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Terms, $2.00 per year; single copies, 25 cents. Payment should be made by money order. 


It has been suggested that readers of the Wellesley Magazine would 
like a study of Paul Verlaine. Verlaine may be considered as a " current 
topic," since his discomposing plaintive personality has only just vanished from 
Parisian life. We all enjoy current topics, and the writer settles obediently 
to jot down her impressions of that most melancholy and elusive and un- 
wholesome poet. 

But the little imp who has so much more to do with our actions than 
has our own solemn purpose, catches her elbow and holds it tight. And 
the imp whispers : Why talk of disease when you might talk of health ? 
Why indulge the taste of this valetudinarian old century of ours to dwell on 
all the symptoms of its own degeneration? A man like Verlaine — disrepu- 
table and religious, blas6 and infantile, cynical and mystical, reckless and 
penitent — is fascinating and pitiful enough, especially since he chances to be 
a genius. Yet he is only a nervous malady after all ; why not haud him over 


to Herr Nordau? I confess, though the admission be unfashionable, that I 
find healthy genius really more interesting than diseased genius. I know 
that many clever people insist that things normal, and simple, and happy are 
usually tedious ; but for me, I love not to dwell on the vagueness of decay. 
A disintegrating organism appears, to be sure, more complex than the same 
organism in a full and harmonious vigor, and a pretty phosphorescence often 
plays about it, but that light will never show one's pathway, and that com- 
plexity speaks of death, not life. 

To be interesting, genius must spring toward the future ; a fire upon its 
countenance, it must find its romance in the chivalrous impulse toward ever 
fresh moral adventure — such adventure as only steady nerves can face. And 
when the genius simply sits down upon the ground dejected, and notes the 
impressions received by changes of emotional weather, I for my part am 
ready to leave it there. 

And so I shall not write of Paul Verlaine — pathetic estray of Parisian 
life, undermined, like Musset and Baudelaire before him, by the sense-fever, 
yet haunted, as neither Musset nor Baudelaire, by dim memories of penitence, 
purity, and the repose of spirit which Catholicism knows so well how to 
offer. I turn away, and dreaming down the long splendid record of French 
men of letters, pause for strength and cool relief beside a man who never 
opened the citadel of his being to straying crowds of loose emotions and 

Alfred de Vigny will never be popular, especially in his own country. 
There is little of the traditional Frenchman about him ; nothing versatile, 
brilliant, unmoral, lightsome. He never turned epigrams. He never flut- 
tered from art to art, passion to passion. Alone he lived and died. Shut 
up, as his contemporaries liked to say, in his "tour d'ivoire" — that is, 
within a nature white, hard, exquisite — he watched and suffered, aloof from 
the gay, impassioned, artistic campaigns of his romantic contemporaries. His 
work — a handful of poems, two or three novels, three dramas — came to him 
slowly or seldom. It was an incident in his own life rather than an aim. The 
worst of it, that written in the sentimental, ultra-romantic spirit of the subjective 
revival, won him the most contemporary applause. The generation of 1830 
hailed because it understood the translation of Othello, and the feeble drama 
" Chatterton," which in their way marked battles won in the romantic cam- 


paign of the time. " Cinq Mars," his most famous romance, is a French 
Waverley novel, marked by much of the prolixity and some of the unreality 
of that school of fiction, though with a brooding, wistful charm. His 
stronger works — a few brief poems, one book of sketches called "Servitude 
et Grandeur Militaires" — passed in his own day unrecognized. To-day few, 
perhaps, would read them. But an occasional wayfarer of thought chancing 
upon these sincere and sad fragments, half involuntary expressions, it would 
seem, of a nature ever fleeing toward silence, such a wayfarer now and again 
will go on his way gravely thankful because he has found the gift of a 

Never, perhaps, was a life sterner in pathos than that of Alfred de Vigny. 
Born for action, circumstances forced him into thought, yet mocked him with 
ceaseless suggestion of that from which he was debarred. He was the son of 
a Napoleonic general and a nobleman. He received his education in a lycie 
where war was in the air, and all his comrades, like himself, were filled with 
the generous ardor of battle. It is hard for us to realize to-day the passion- 
ate and exclusive enthusiasm aroused in France during the Napoleonic wars 
by the military idea. After centuries of suppression, after the brief, quick- 
ening spasm of the Revolution, the fierce, awakened energy of an entire and 
mighty people swept outward toward conquest. "La Gloire " — radiant if 
unsubstantial — hovered before them ; the intoxicating joy of the deed pos- 
sessed them ; and one man, a man of almost daemonic power to educe and 
attract greatness of spirit, excited a wild loyalty that created around his name a 
legend still extant. The brilliant novels of Stendthal, " La Chartreuse de 
Parme," " Le Rouge et le Noir," give a vivid image of the ambitions of the 
time ; the writings of De Vigny show its lost illusions. No clear object was 
conceived in all this craving for action, except the expenditure of accumu- 
lated, restless force, and the achievement of " glory." A brutal and ignoble 
end, you say, looking at that fierce impulse for conquest in its historic bear- 
ings. Perhaps ; but to the men of the day it seemed neither ignoble nor 
brutal. Intense fullness of detail can for a time obscure tendency, and there 
was in the episodes of contemporary life heroism abundant enough to sus- 
pend all question of the central aim. Stories of courage undaunted, of high 
endurance, of achievement almost superhuman, all inspired by passionate 
loyalty to the Emperor, fired the youth of France to take their part in the 


march of valor. In crowds they joined the army, and claimed rapturously 
their share in the great Napoleonic campaigns. 

De Vigny entered the military career with high-beating hopes. He 
served for fourteen years — and never witnessed an engagement. The tide of 
warfare was ebbing. "I belong," he says, "to that generation born with 
the century which, nourished upon bulletins by the Emperor, had ever be- 
fore its eyes a naked sword, and advanced to seize it at the very moment 
when France was putting it back in the sheath of the Bourbons. Thus in 
this modest picture of part of my life I will appear only what I was, specta- 
tor rather than actor, to my great regret. The events which I sought did 
not present themselves as great as I desired. Q'l/faire? One is not always 
master to play the role one would have loved, and the coat does not come to 
us at the moment when it would have suited us best." He identified himself 
less with a lost cause than with a dying passion, of which the hollowness be- 
came evident in death. Exhausted with material struggle, the world was 
turning for relief to thought and emotion. De Vigny made the mistake of 
committing himself to the past. His act was irrevocable. Young, grave, tense 
with idealism, he awaited a summons which never came. He knew the 
bitter, passive hardships of a military career, the unrelenting, ceaseless 
severity of drill, the physical exposure, the marches pushed to the verge of 
exhaustion, the ascetic regimen, the drear solitude, the implicit obedience. 
These made his life. But for the end of these things, the fighting to which 
they tend, without which they are worse than futile, he yearned in vain. 
The ardor of the battlefield leapt within his veins like flame ; never once 
did it find expression. He spent his life, down to minutest details, in rigid 
preparation for an experience which never came. 

Different men would be shaped to different ends by this most ironical 
destiny. One would become martinet ; another sensualist ; De Vigny, 
haughty, pure, impassioned, turned philosopher. In the long, silent hours 
of his watch, in lonely marching, in the cloistral seclusion of military dis- 
cipline, he thought. Few and sparse are the records of these thoughts of his, 
but because this philosopher was also a poet, they will never be quite for- 
gotten. Held by a singular fate apart from life, his meditations were austere. 
Echoes of action reached him, but they were always sad. From the old 
veterans who had known what he might never know, — the joy and exaltation 


of the conflict, — he heard story after story of the epic cycle which was draw- 
ing to ii close. From his friends in the world — happy men, free to love and 
wed and labor — he heard of the emotions which stirred in blessed humble 
hearts. Hearing and brooding, De Vigny became a pessimist ; these desti- 
nies seemed to him in essence no higher than his own, and earth's glories 
and earth's passions were evident as mere glamour on the darkness. He was 
an esprit libre, holding himself, at a moment of Catholic revival, aloof from 
creed, though not aloof from reverence. At a time when French poetry was 
first trivial, then brilliant with rhetorical and emotional fervor, his few quiet 
poems cut deep. Incidentally, they suggest many of the distinctive lines 
which poetry was to follow. De Vigny's poetic activity dates from 1815 ; 
that of Lamartine from 1820 : that of Hugo from 1822. He suggests more 
remote successors than these. Before Leconte de Lisle he gives us, as in 
"Moi'se" and "La Colere de Samson," the concise epic study at once of 
antique civilization and of an evei -modern despair. Before Sully Prud- 
homme, he gives us the poem, subjective, yet not egotistic — French critics 
often confuse the two — of psychological problem, as in "La Bouteille a la 
Mer," or "Les Destinees." A summary of the motifs of these thirty poems 
— there are no more — would show the intellectual reach of De Vigny. Two 
or three only can be suggested. There is a crystal grandeur to "Mo'ise," the 
rebellion of the solitary leader, his wail over his life, his cry for a sepulchre 
among men, not on the lonely heights : — 

"Vous m'avez fait vieillir puissant et solitaire; 
Laissez-moi m'endormir du sommeil de la terre." 

"La Colere de Samson" treats with a ferocity of suffering, the ancient 
theme, the curse brought by the woman. " Dolorida," with a suggestion of 
Browning in its concise dramatic intensity, gives the story of the wife 
deceived; she has poisoned the tickle husband, who returns to die, restored 
and repentant, in her arms. The most famous of these narratives is " Eloa," 
a poem which in a few pages attains more in poetic and dramatic effect than 
Lamartine achieved in his long volume of epic verse, "La Chute d'un 
Ange." There is an extraordinary mixture of Milton and Heine in this 
poem, with its half mocking, half sublime description of heaven, and its 
entirely original offsetting of the Principle of Evil against Good. Eloa, 
angel of compassion, born of a tear of Christ, is restless in heaven, and 


wings her solitary way downward through space, in pitying, half-unconscious 
impulse to find and to console the leader of the rebel hosts. Uncertain 
lights playing through the darkness gather at last into the dim form of the 
fallen angel, resting in depths of infinite space. He is, in conception, the 
Lucifer of Byron, but less melodramatic and far more intensely felt. The dia- 
logue between him and Eloa, as it advances, becomes more and more pene- 
trating, and touched with ever more bitter irony. He draws her by her 
innocence, her pity, by the mysterious, attracting force of ill ; yet repels 
her purity by the passions of hell, which play in his countenance. She 
hovers, doubtful — when a chorus of distant cherubim reaches her ears, sing- 
ing the glory of sacrifice, the necessity of self-immolation to redemption. 
Determined, she sinks to the side of Lucifer; and the end, sinister and 
brief, gives us the wails and cruel answers which float upward as the rebel 
and the would-be redeemer sink into endless flame : — 

" ' Oil me conduisez-vous, bel ange ?' ' Viens toujours.' 
' Que votre voix est triste, et quel sombre discours! 

N'est-ce-pas Eloa qui souleve ta chaine? 

J'ai cru t'avoir sauve' — 'Non, c'est moi qui t'entraine.' 
'Si nous sommes unis, peu m'importe en quel lieu! 

Nomme-moi done encore ou ta soeur ou ton dieu.' 
' J'enleve mon esclave et je tiens ma victime.' 
' Tu paraissais si bon ! Oh qu'ai-je-fait? ' ' Un crime.' 
' Seras-tu plus heureux? du moins, es-tu content? ' 
' Plus triste que jamais ' — ' Qui done es-tu? ' ' Satan.' " 

The futility of sacrifice has rarely been portrayed with more sorrowful 
sarcasm. De Vigny's more philosophical poems, like " La Bouteille a la 
Mer" and " Les Destinees" are strong by their unflinching sincerity, and 
by that unfailing felicity and finality of expression which lends charm to 
even the most austere of fine French verse. In point of workmanship, how- 
ever, he never attained that high polish characteristic of Gautier and his 
successors, nor, needless to say, that charm of vague expression and far 
suggestion inaugurated by Baudelaire. A classicist in style, though often 
romantic in choice of subject, his work at best is lucid, concise and master- 
ful. It is more in the vein of Matthew Arnold than of any other modern 
English poet. There is small appeal to the visual imagination, much to the 
imagination of the mind. Even in such a poem as " Dolorida," the passion- 


ate theme is treated rather psychologically than emotionally. In truth, De 
Vigny was more addicted to analyze and reflect than to see and feel ; or, at 
least, his feeling habitually springs out of problem. He was a solitary and 
a stoic. Aristocratic, yet conscious that aristocracies were doomed, deeply 
religious, yet alien to Christianity, his aloofness forced him into originality. 
Till Sully Prudhomme we find no other French poet so intellectual, or, apart 
from Hugo, one so touched with wide feeling for humanity. 

The noble compassion of the soldier for human pain pervades his work. 
" For this religion of human suffering," says Brunetiere, " which Lamennais, 
George Sand, Auguste Comte all felt, but which lacked even in the last a 
solid philosophical and ethical basis, and which was in the others only a vague 
aspiration and a generous impulse, Vigny, in his pessimism, had found 
a firm metaphysical foundation. For he was a thinker; and the author 
of the ' Destinees ' is of the family of Pascal. That is why I am surprised that 
among the theorists of pessimism his place has not yet been assigned beside 
Leopardi and Schopenhauer." 

It is true that the general animus of De Vigny's work is profoundly sad. 
Faith in the social fabric failed him ; nor could he take refuge, as so many of 
his generation, in a return to nature and rapturous admiration of primeval 
life. His attitude is characteristic of his stern sincerity. At a time when 
Chateaubriand was sentimentalizing over Nature's response to the soul of man, 
De Vigny saw in her a malign power. "They call thee a Mother ; thou art 
a tomb !" he cries with epigrammatic terseness, and in somber, reticent lines 
develops this inexorable thought. He sees in human destinies only a passage 
from suffering of conflict to suffering of endurance, lighted by an uncertain 
gleam, which he never quite abandons, of distant hope. 

Pessimistic Vigny is. But the depth of his pessimism is relieved by a 
splendid courage and a scorn of all that is base. The virtues of the soldier, 
finding little scope in his outward life, transferred themselves to the life of the 
soul. A sort of military Wordsworth, the stern necessity of submission and 
surrender is the keynote of his thought : — 

' ' Gemir, pleurer, prier, est egalement lache, 
Fais energiquement ta longue et lourde tache 
Dans la voie oil le sort a voulu t'appeler, 
Puis, apres, comme moi, souffre et meurs sans parler.'' 


Such is the end of a bleak and powerful poem, "La Mort du Loup," in which 
Mhe wild creature dying amidst the forests in grim silence, is to him the 
symbol of his own repressed and purposeless life. In " Le Mont des 
Oliviers " he imagines, with an audacity redeemed from irreverence by its 
sorrow, a soliloquy of defeat, failure, unanswered question, on the lips of the 
Christ. The end of the poem has become famous. If indeed, says De Vigny, 
the heavens were mute to the pleading of the Son of Man, then 

" Le Juste opposera le dedain a l'absence, 
Et ne repondra plus que par un froid silence, 
Au silence eternel de la Divinite"." 

Into this silence of disdain De Vigny for the most part retires. Yet, despite 
the suffering they reveal, his books are stimulating rather than depressing 
reading. This is due to their high ethical note, their absolute sincerity, their 
compassion free from all weakness. His greatest novel, "Servitude et 
Grandeur Militaires," is a French Sartor Resartus. Through pictures, stories, 
musings, all drawn from the period of the Empire, he shows us hopes deceived, 
ideals realized worthless when reached, human life denuded of honor, love, , 
labor, — of all save obedience and silence. It is a strange picture of the 
inward life of that period of blaring outward glory, — a picture true in essence, 
I imagine, to the rigorous discipline and the general disillusion of the soldier's 
career. At any rate, the book is singularly touching and noble in its record 
of a patience reaching to heroism, and a submission to fate so perfect in 
sorrowful dignity as to establish the undying spiritual power of the humanity 
so sadly drawn. It is a far cry from this courageous and silent spirit to 
whom all desires were denied, to the petulant restlessness of Verlaine, by 
whom all desires were exhausted. A literary epoch lies between them. But 
without even hinting at literary movement or analysis, it is easy to see, 
putting the two men side by side, that depth of life is not measured by variety 
of experience, and that through the very negation of feeling and activity a 
loyal nature may press near to some central secrets, and may even attain to 
the creation of a little of that witness to the indomitable victory of life which 
we call poetry. 




When mother announced that she and father were going abroad in June, 
and that we children were to be left in charge of father's Aunt Maria, there 
was consternation in the family. Three whole months without mother, and 
with an unknown aunt, whose name did not sound prepossessing ! 

" You must be very kind to your aunt, for she has had little to make 
her life happy," said mother; " and I should be sorry to have you make 
her stay here other than most pleasant. Katherine is old enough to take 
care of the younger children, and I am sure the time will pass very quickly. 
Why, you will hardly know we are gone before October will be here, and we 
shall be at home again." 

We shook our heads sadly, but made up our minds to accept the inevit- 
able with a good grace. 

A few days before the travelers were to sail Aunt Maria duly arrived, 
accompanied by a shivery little black and tan dog, a parrot, three bandboxes, 
and an umbrella. She never intrusted her belongings to a trunk ; she wished 
them right in her hand, she informed my father, as he helped the dog to the 
front seat of the trap. She was an energetic person, this aunt of ours, tall 
and angular, with sharp blue eyes, and brown hair, that wouldn't grow gray, 
gathered into a tight knot at the back of her head. She came from Boston, 
and looked on New York as a very wicked city, where she, however, with 
her strong Puritan principles and Pilgrim ancestry, was as safe as- Daniel in 
the lion's den. In spite of her peculiarities she won our hearts through the 
dog and the parrot, who performed their tricks to our great satisfaction, 
and promised fun for the future, especially the parrot, to whom my brother 
lost no time in teaching all the slang known to the small boy. 

The next three or four days were very busy ones, and before we knew 
what had happened we were driving away from the dock, with more or less 
tearful eyes, and mother and father were really gone. 

Then there began a new regime, with new duties for us. Aunt Maria 
was afraid of burglars, and every night before we went to bed, Katherine, 
brother Jack, Aunt Maria, and I had to march from cellar to attic, to be sure 
that every window and door was securely fastened ; the dog had to be fed at 


exactly ten o'clock; and the parrot must be covered, for unless kept in the 
dark he was inclined to awaken early, and rouse the household by sing- 
ing "Hail, Columbia," or screaming " What !" to his own remarks. 

We had never thought of burglars, but by the time we had been told 
how prone New Yorkers were to thieving, and had had direful tales pointed out 
to us in the papers, we grew really alarmed on the subject. I even caught 
Katherine taking a surreptitious peep under the bed before she put out the 
light. Nevertheless, in spite of our fears, nothing out of the ordinary 
happened till one afternoon the cook announced that the roast for that day's 
dinner was nowhere to be found. 

" Oi put it in the oice box, mum, whin it come, and it was there whin 
Oi wint upshtairs to put on me afthernoon dress, mum ; but whin Oi come to 
fix it, mum, it ain't there at all, and what shall Oi do for the dinner, mum?" 
Katy delivered these remarks with great force, and departed without waiting 
for an answer. 

" You must call a policeman," Aunt Maria said, after deep thought. 

" What good will that do?" asked Jack ; " you don't know of anybody 
to arrest, and, anyhow, how do you know that the ice-box door wasn't left 
open and Sascha didn't steal it. He looks as if he had," he added, wickedly, 
glancing at the dog lying peacefully asleep on the couch. This attack on 
the integrity of her favorite caused Aunt Maria to dart to her own room in 
high dudgeon, with the remark that we " might do just as we pleased. 
Come, Sascha, poor little do°gie ! " 

We interviewed the " second girl," and found that a cup was missing from 
the pantry, besides a plated silver spoon and a pitcher of cream ; also, that 
an organ grinder with a very miserable little monkey had asked for some 
food that morning, and had been refused by Katy, who " couldn't abide thim 
animals." Some one who didn't belong there had evidently visited our lar- 
der ; but as we missed nothing more valuable than a kitchen spoon, we de- 
cided to let the matter rest. The next day more food was gone, and the 
next, but after that we were not disturbed. So we children were inclined to 
think that the spoon and pitcher had been lost, and that Sascha knew more 
about the meat and cream than he cared to tell. 

One evening about a week later we were preparing to go into the house 
and to bed, when we heard a shriek issuing from Aunt Maria's room, and 


presumably from Aunt Maria, who had gone up before us. We rushed up- 
stairs, burst into the room, and stopped in amazement on the threshold. 
There was our dignified aunt, in rather light attire, standing on a chair, 
waving an umbrella in one hand and her false front in the other, in the 
direction of the bed. And on the bed, crouched between the pillows, was 
the tiniest, most miserable little monkey ever seen. Poor little fellow, he 
had been rudely awakened from probably the most comfortable nap he had 
ever had in his much-abused, hard-worked life. 

"How in the world did he get here?" we all asked, when we had re- 
covered from our astonishment sufficiently to speak. 

" I don't know, I'm sure ! " answered Aunt Maria, descending from the 
chair. " I suppose he climbed up the water conductor. He must have run 
away, for here's his chain. You see, I didn't light the gas at once, because 
it was so warm; and when I did, and saw that thing on my bed, I was 
greatly alarmed." She had evidently got over her fright ; if not she would 
have said " scared." 

" Well, what'll we do with him?" I asked. 

" Put him right out in the yard, of course." 

"Oh, don't, Aunt Maria; let's tie him in the cellar;" said Katherine, 
who likes animals of any kind, and had been making friends with the little 
creature during the explanation. 

"Well, perhaps you would better tie him somewhere; and I don't 
know but that the cellar's as good a place as any," answered Aunt Maria. 
" He might get in again if he were left in the yard. But tie him tight, and 
be sure you lock all the doors ! " 

So Katherine led the monkey downstairs, and made him as comfortable 
as possible. 

Next morning she announced to the assembled family at the breakfast 
table that she meant to keep " that baste," as Katy called him, till mother 
and father came home, at any rate, and longer if she could. So she did ; for 
his master, presumably the organ grinder, never appeared to claim him ; and 
Katherine usually had her own way, anyhow. 

Jeremiah, as we called the monkey, from his mournful expression, took 
a violent fancy to Aunt Maria, who, unfortunately, did not return his affec- 
tion. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Jeremiah fell in love 


with Aunt Maria's possessions ; for he appeared in the parlor one day with 
her false front upside down on the hack of his head ; he hid her glasses, and 
insisted on sleeping in her bonnet box. On the whole he was a great trial 
to the family, but everything he did was amusing, so that even father, when 
he came home, said he might stay. Jeremiah was quite impartial in his 
attentions. He painted the mirror in the parlor with father's shaving brush 
and the mucilage, he shut the cat in the oven, and turned off the electric 
light when Katherine had callers, — all with equal cheerfulness. No one was 
neglected except the cook. Of her he had stood in great awe ever since she 
found him in the coal bin with a jar of cream, and, I am sorry to say, 
whipped him. 

In the spring the little fellow caught cold, and in spite of the best of 
care he died. We all felt very sad, and the younger children refused to be 
comforted. He was buried in the tulip bed ; and Jack made him a tomb- 
stone out of a slate from the roof, with this choice and appropriate 
inscription : — 

Has gone higher.' 

K. B. Read, '99. 


To our credit be it said that at the root of much of the public curiosity 
concerning the private life of a great man, there is a deep human sympathy. 
When men and women who are strugglingalong the commonplace thoroughfares 
of life, see beyond them a man who has proved his right to distinction, they 
are anxious to know how, under burdens strangely like their own, he has 
made the greater journey, and won their applause and emulation. Since the 
letters of such a man may in a measure answer these questionings, they 
have a peculiar and a far-reaching interest ; an interest keener, perhaps, than 
any biography can give, because here there is no third person stepping in 
between the man and the reader. 

This absence of a third person is delightfully conspicuous in the two 
volumes of Matthew Arnold's Letters. In this respect the editor has done 


his wcvrk admirably. Owing to Mr. Arnold's express wish that no attempt 
at a biography should be made, it was impossible to add any full notes to 
the letters. We find, therefore, only such footnotes as explain obscure ref- 
erences to persons, places or books, with here and there a brief word in re- 
gard to important events. From Mr. Russell's short prefatory note, a 
friend's tribute to the man, we gain at the start a clear impression of those 
enduring qualities in Matthew Arnold's character which we find emphasized 
by subsequent reading. With the exception of this brief introduction, the 
letters stand by themselves to show the man as he was. "The peculiar 
charm of his letters lies in their perfect naturalness. They are, in a word, 
himself," says Mr. Russell. Yet after reading some five or six hundred pages 
we pluck up courage to admit that we might have had more of the man if 
we had had less of " himself." The endless repetitions of dinners, bad and 
good, of snoring neighbors, of baths, barbers, and bilious attacks, seem 
rather to add to our wonder at the tireless patience of the writer, than to 
give insight into his character. If Mr. Russell had cut into the letters more 
ruthlessly, leaving out many minute details which could appeal only to the 
most anxious of wives, the result might have been more satisfactory to the 
general reader. On the whole, however, we are well pleased with his thor- 
oughly objective and conscientious treatment of material. 

Of the letters themselves there will be many opinions, but a few leading 
characteristics must strike all readers. No one can fail to notice that the 
list of correspondents here represented is very short. Nearly all the letters 
are those written to members of Matthew Arnold's family. We find him, as 
he constantly signs himself, ever a most affectionate son. The weekly letters 
to his mother, which cover a period of twenty-five years, are remarkable for 
what they show of a frank companionship and loyal deference. The touch- 
ing tributes to his father's memory reveal the powerful influence that domi- 
nated so large a part of the son's life. To his younger sister he writes en- 
thusiastically of every wild flower he finds in a new region. The letters to 
Mrs. Matthew Arnold give minute accounts of traveling companions, sand- 
wiches, princes, and glaciers. In the second volume the rambling, loving 
letters to his two daughters and to his son, show the delightful comradeship 
between father and children. Yet of all the family letters, the most inter- 
esting are those to his sister, Mrs. Forster, about whom he thinks so often in 


connection with his work, and with whom, as to a critic and friend, he speaks 
freely of his own sense of the importance of the task he has set himself to do. 

" I thought the other day that I would tell you of a Frenchman whom 
I saw in Paris, Ernest Renan, between whose line of endeavor and my own 
I imagine there is considerable resemblance, that you might have a look at 
some of his books, if you liked. The difference is, perhaps, that he tends to 
inculcate morality, in a high sense of the word, upon the French nation as 
what they most want, while I tend to inculcate intelligence, also in a high 
sense of the word, upon the English nation as what they most want ; but with 
respect both to morality and intelligence, I think we are singularly at one in 
our ideas, and also both to the progress and the established religion of the 
present day." 

In passages such as this, while the thought and the manner of expres- 
sion remind us of the essayist, we see also the man writing frankly to one 
who will understand his attitude and his earnestness of purpose. The many 
allusions to his work, however, occur incidentally in letters giving bits of 
home life, or interesting encounters with Disraeli, Thackeray, Gladstone, 
and other prominent men. In an early letter to Mrs. Forster, he alludes to 
a friend of whom we have too meaner mention. Referring to his interest in 
the political agitations of the time, he says : — 

" I have only poured forth a little to Clough, we two agreeing like two 
lambs in a world of wolves. I think you would have liked to see the corre- 

To see it were indeed a pleasure, but one unfortunately denied us. We 
wish also that we might enjoy his letters to Sainte-Beuve, in connection with 
whom one of the significant characteristics of the English critic is distinctly 
shown. Arnold's peculiar sensitiveness in giving adverse criticism finds ex- 
pression in a letter to his mother. 

" I have been bothered composing a letter to Sainte-Beuve, who has 
sent me the new edition of his poems. Every one is more sensitive about 
his poems than about his other works, and it is not on his poems that Sainte- 
Beuve's fame will rest ; indeed, except in songs I do not see that French 
verse can lie very satisfactory. . . . However, Sainte-Beuve's poems have 
all his talent in them, although they have not exactly the charm of poetry ; 
but it was difficult to say this in a way he would like. I have at last written 


and sent him a letter with which I am tolerably well satisfied, but it has given 
me a great deal of trouble." 

That Matthew Arnold was bothered in composing anything inspires the 
reader with a moment's wicked glee while turnino; the leaves in search of fur- 
ther signs of the critic, who, indeed, appears on almost every page, giving 
opinions of Tennyson, Thackeray, and Charlotte Bronte, which will meet 
with wide dissent. The following warped comment is an instance of the 
blind judgment so often shown toward his contemporaries. 

" I do not think Tennyson a great and powerful spirit in any line — as 
Goethe was in the line of modern thought, Wordsworth in that of contem- 
plation, Byron even in that of passion ; and unless a poet, especially a poet 
at this time of day, is that, my interest in him is slight, and my conviction 
that he will not finally stand high is firm." 

His own work he judges according to the principles by which he tests 
the work of other writers ; and perhaps it is owing to his belief in these 
principles that he can say, with evident sincerity, that he rebounds more 
readily than most men from the attacks of the reviewers. He receives ad- 
verse criticism with less chagrin than when he gives it. Many readers will 
be glad to look with the author's eyes upon that work of his which has ex- 
cited most comment. In the home letters are two noteworthy passages in 
which Arnold refers to Literature and Dogma : — 

" It will more and more become evident how entirely l'eligious is the 
work I have done in Literature and Dogma. The enemies of Religion see 
this well enough already." 

A few weeks later he replies to certain questionings from his sister : — 

" This is in part an answer to what you say about treating with light- 
ness what is a matter of life and death to so man}' people. There is a levity 
which is altogether evil ; but to treat miracles and the common anthropo- 
morphic ideas of God as what one may lose and yet keep his courage, hope, 
and joy, as what are not really matters of life and death in the keeping or 
losing of them, this is desirable and necessary, if one holds, as I do, that the 
common anthropomorphic ideas of God and the reliance upon miracles 
must and will inevitably pass away." 

Few careful readers of the letters will call the writer a man devoid of 
religious sentiment, yet the expression of this sentiment, and indeed of every 


other, is dominated by his extraordinary self-poise. The infinite patience 
throughout years of drudgery, and the tranquility with which he meets the 
crises of* his life, reveal the same steadfastness. After the death of his son 
Trevenen he says, with a suddenness that strikes home to many readers, 
" I cannot write his name without stopping to look at it in stupefaction 
at his not being alive." 

This is perhaps the nearest approach to an outburst of feeling, yet even 
here the sorrowing heart of the father docs not disconcert the calm self-de- 
pendence of the man. 

The strong feeling of admiration for much nobility of character is min- 
gled, as we lay the volume aside, with one of dissatisfaction, due, no doubt, 
to the same mighty self-mastery that inspires our respect. As we have 
failed to meet the man of passion, so we have failed to meet the poet. He, 
too, is completely hidden under the calm exterior of the man. One or two 
meager references lead us to fancy that there was a poet. There is a hint of 
his reticence when he says : — 

"My poems I am less and less inclined to repeat, although if I lived 
with K. [Mrs. Forster] I daresay I should never have got out of the habit 
of repeating them to her." 

There is nowhere the ardent, poetic fervor that we see in Lowell's letters. 
Indeed, the contrast between these two men could hardly be more striking. 
In each case we have the letters of a critic, essayist, and poet : in the one 
the ardent, buoyant, vigorous nature with its strong lights and shadows ; 
in the other, the earnest, cheerful, strongly confident man who seems to walk 
always in a narrow track of light. Matthew Arnold saw the world in his 
own genial way, always quite unconscious that it might be otherwise than as 
he saw it. The world, in trying to discover the real man, cannot overlook 
his unselfish loyalty to his principles ; but neither can it deny a nameless 
lack of that broad human sympathy always demanded of a great man. We 
enjoy the playfulness of some of the home letters. We like to see the great 
Persian cat leap silently to his desk and rub her sleek face against his shoul- 
der. Yet these glimpses do not dispel the impression of conventionality. 
Everywhere we see the man devoted to "les sentiments les plus legitimes." 
We are awed and disappointed by the impregnability of what Mr. Russell 
calls the "magnificent serenity of demeanor." 

G. L. Cook, '99. 



I do not know; I think I cannot sing, 
My hand is trembling so; the room so still. 
"Tis fated that I fail, so weak my will. 
Pass on the harp ; I cannot touch its string. 

I plunge into the night ; the doors behind me swing. 
Oh, all the dark without is drear and chill! 
Yet better than the feast this moorland hill, — 
And now I hear their mocking laughter ring. 

I could not sing; alone of all the rest! 

And my hot tears fall fast into the night; 

The meek-eyed herd stirs not. — Oh, vision blest, 

What art thou, standing there with brow of light? 

What is this melody that round me rings? 

It cannot be! Yea, Lord, mine own voice sings! 

I. H. F., '96. 


They had all come hopefully, for the sake of the tea and the tennis. 
It was two years since Millbridge had been bidden to the Annises', and, after 
all, the right of opening the season belonged to them. What had happened 
in Boston in the meantime had, on the whole, little bearing on life at 
Millbridge ; it had always been the habit there to respect the Judge and 
come to Mary's teas, and Boston is many miles from Millbridge. Besides 
it was not Mary's fault, and probably the Judge would stay in the library. 

So Mary held her little court, as of old, under the elms at the left of the 
tennis ground, smiled and chatted and looked quite like a young girl in the 
pink gown she had brought from Paris. And they all shook hands more 
or less warmly with her, and then resolved themselves into decorous groups 
about the tennis court. The edge of the dusty white court and of the green 
terraces above it were already thickly spotted with light frocks, and it was 
not yet four. There were not very many black coats ; but men are never 
plentiful in Millbridge, even in the summer season. So the guests toyed 
contentedly enough with their teacups and wafers, and watched Annis 
Archibald and Archibald Bradlee playing as hot a game of tennis as was 
possible with the Parloe girls in the way. It was all quite like the old 


At a time when the group about Mary was thickest, Louise Macken- 
zie detached herself, having had her hostess's pale cheeks and smiling 
mouth before her long enough. Mary was the Mary of the old days ; the 
atmosphere about Mary was the same : Louise wondered as she made her 
way through the same old people on the edge of the tennis court. She 
wanted to talk to somebody, and walked meditatively past flippant Grace 
Archibald, past Willie Angell, the unhappy genius of the town, past Wil- 
lie's ill-bred aunt, gossiping happily with Mrs. Haynes. 

" And when the house in Boston was sold," Mrs. Severance was saying 

Louise bit her lip, and passed over to where kind Mrs. Pritchard 
sat, neglected and restless and lonesome without her Doctor. Mrs. Pritchard 
was grateful and nervous as Louise sat down beside her, and after a min- 
ute's fidgeting began the unnecessary explanation. 

"Poor dear Mary!" she said. "I'm so ashamed. Do you suppose 
she noticed, Louise ? And she came over last week quite as in the old times 
to ask my advice about the invitations. She must think it strange. But I 
could not get the Doctor to come. Everyone knows what he and the Judge 
used to be, and I told him so ; but he wouldn't listen. ' He had some read- 
ing to do,' he said. He always used to come, you know, Louise." 

Louise nodded, and tried to say something. Mrs. Pritchard, more 
nervous than ever after her confidence, fidgeted again. "0 1 must go," she 
said. " There isn't a crowd about Mary, so I can tell her how lovely it's all 
been. It really is late, isn't it? And I hope she hasn't noticed." 

It w 7 as not late, and Louise had some trouble in crossing over to the left 
side of the court, where she saw her cousin Eustace Parloe chatting with Mrs. 
Whitwell. Mrs. Whitwell welcomed Louise with a smile and a lift of her 
black eyebrows. 

" I'm just pleading, Louise," she said, " that my luncheon last week was 
really inaugural ; but Eustace says it wasn't, because there were no men there, 
and because I'm not an Annis." 

"And I've just been making as plain to you as I can," murmured 
Eustace, pulling his new red beard, "the dramatic value of the present 
situation. Even the usual Annis rain won't be necessary, I judge." 

" O, if you call a general dampening dramatic," pouted the widow. 


Louise bit her lip again. But she had come with a question to ask, so 
she said shortly, "Uncle's not coming?" 

Eustace slanted a glance down at Louise over the top of his collar. 
" Unfortunately," said he, " my father elaborates his ideas for Millbridge use 
in Cambridge, and Boston has been sharing some rather rough material with 
Cambridge this last year or two. Also, he likes to avoid having to come in 
when it rains." 

Louise did not understand the workings of her cousin's masculine mind, 
but as she arose she decided that, however his flippancy was to be taken, 
Eustace had come home from Gottingen a brute. Then, prompted by a 
sudden suspicion, she looked her indignation at Mrs. Whitwell. Mrs. Whit- 
well still smiled, and Louise was sure. 

She acquitted stupid Eustace of considering this complexity a part of the 
dramatic situation. But " Why don't they announce it here?" she wondered 
grimly, as she started back to Mary. She grinned at Laura Parloe as she 
passed her, and wondered if she knew. She looked at Mary Annis and 
wondered — did Mary know? 

The crowd had thinned away from Mary by this time. She and her old 
protege, Willie Angell, sat together under the elm trees. Poor Angell! 
Louise knew, as well as Angell himself, that he had come to Mary to talk of 
his successes just as he had babbled to her in the old days of his dreams. 
Kind, tired, tactless Mary was chatting cheerfully on of the remarkable new 
rector; of Tom Collins, who had already twelve pupils on the violin, and was 
about to have a waltz published. Angell was twisting his moustache upwards 
in a series of miserable smiles, waiting for a chance to say something, — not to 
demolish that ass Collins, but just something about the new mass in b flat, a 
deprecation of the popularity of the last little song series. Mary still strayed 
in the wrong path as Louise came up. Poor selfish Angell ! Poor tired 
Mary ! Louise touched the hand that Mary held out to her, and sat down in 
the grass beside her chair. She could not help following Mary's glance as 
she chatted. It fell on Eustace and Mrs. Whitwell. Louise bit her lip again. 

It was late. Mary had to rise to receive the adieux of the people who 
were going by twos and threes. They were all a little more subdued than 
the hopeful people who had come an hour or two before. Everything had 
been very nice, and quite like the old times ; but tennis and tea are never 


over-refreshing. There were perhaps a dozen of the sprueest left, when Mary 
looked up over the terraces toward the house, and saw her father coming 
down the slope on the arm of kind Archie Bradlee. Annis Archibald looked 
at Willie Angell and grinned. Louise looked for Cousin Eustace, and sighed 
with relief at finding him gone. 

So the Judge took his turn at holding court, handsome, dignified as ever, 
not a bit less assured or less charming than in the old days. The people 
who had stayed forgot to be doubtful, and merely wondered. The Judge 
took the measure of the little group and wondered if he would not have done 
well to come before. 

The Annises were back again. They had given the first informal affair 
of the season, and everything was quite as in the old times. Louise sat 
under the elms by tired Mary's side, and bit her lip hard. 

Edith Orr, '98. 


" You do not know me, Mrs. Van Dorm." 

He sat, with an uncomfortable air, on the edge of his chair, and there* 
was an eager seeking for contradiction in the thin, dark face. It died 
away, however, and the customary lines of reserve and shyness came back 
to their places, as the professor's small wife settled herself among the cush- 
ions of her husband's big chair. 

" No," she said slowly, bringing the tips of her fingers together before 
her as she looked critically at her guest. " And yet, I do. I should never 
think of calling you a stranger. But I meet so many young men, you 
know " 

"Yes, I know," he interrupted. " I ought not to have asked it, even. 
But — I was at the University some years ago, and used to come here now 
and then, with the other fellows, for a cup of tea and a word with you in the 
afternoon. My name is Dane." 

"Why!" The little woman sat up straight with a more active show 
of interest. "I remember," she said, rapidly. "You are an American, 
and there is something queer about your work here, — unusual, I mean? 
You " 


" I went away very abruptly," he said, dryly. "I fancy that is the 
distinctive point. It was before I got my degree, too. You were very 
good to me in the old days, and I have wondered since if, — if you noticed 
that I did not come to bid you good-by, or explain. That is partly why 
I'm here to-day, Mrs. Van Dorm." 

The professor's wife was listening with a slightly puzzled expression, a 
reflection of her feeling that she really ought to recall something more. 
Her guest noticed this. " Not," he continued, losing his hard manner in 
the embarrassed consciousness of the flush on his face, "not that I flat- 
tered myself that you would remember, or care. I have rather fallen into 
the habit of doing little things of this sort to satisfy myself." 

"The poor man," Mrs. Professor was thinking in the depths of her 
sympathetic heart. " He is too used to being forgotten." So there was 
an added cheeriness and cordiality in her tone as she rose and crossed the 
room to her little tea table. " I have made tea for you before, then? Well, 
I'll do it again now, and you tell me all about it. I know my head isn't 

good for much. My husband has enough for us both, you know You 

are smiling!" with mock reproach. " Oh, I know what you students say 
about my opinion of him ! But, there ! I don't want to talk. I want to 
hear you. Begin at the beginning, and tell me." 

The man sat back and looked at her for a moment. A sense of com- 
fort and familiarity stole over him. The bonds which usually held hig tongue 
seemed to loosen, as they had often done before under the same genial, 
womanly influence, and he felt no resentment that he was merely one of the 
many who came to her in the same way. 

" I was studying here, working for my doctor's degree, with your husband 
chiefly," he began, like one who has a story to tell, and time enough to tell it 
in his own Avay. " I worked literally, for I hadn't much money, and there 
was a fine position promised me at home if I came back at the end of that, 
my third year, with a Ph.D. Things had gone on pretty smoothly. I never 
was particularly brilliant, but I was thoroughly in earnest, and my course 
began to look pretty straight. The final dissertation was the main thing, 
and that was coming on well. It was to finish collecting material for it that 
I finally left Zurich and went to Treves about ten months before it was clue. 

" I stayed in an old monastery there, to which the professor had secured 


me entrance, and for eight months was deep in the great musty books of 
its library. The monks were chary of their treasures at first, but little by 
little they opened up their best for me, and put in my hands more than I had 
ever dreamed of finding. They were old, old books, many of them price- 
less, and printed, or in some cases written, in quaint characters almost 
unintelligible. I have spent days in trying to glean a single item from the 
confusion of their pages. And the brothers were so kind to me." 

Mr. Dane had almost forgotten that he had a listener. The familiar 
room, the professor's wife, the associations of the old student life, had 
brought up everything so vividly that he could almost believe himself that 
younger man, living it all over again. 

" The monks were bookish men themselves," he went on. " They un- 
derstood that I wished for the most part to be left undisturbed, and it was 
only now and then that they came and talked with me, sitting on the stone 
bench in the midst of the quiet greenness of their garden. The day that 
I went away one of them sat opposite me for a long time without speaking, 
and then he said : ' Will Monsieur leave the monastery? I would have him 
stay and become one of us, for the companionship he brings me.' Poor 
fellow ! The very loneliness of his speech made me tingle with the desire to 
get away from the deadness of the place, back to the world where men lived 
their lives. 

"The last few days of my stay in Treves were spent in sorting and 
arranging not only the notes I had obtained in that library, but all the data 
collected in three years for my final thesis. Then I took leave of my good 
friends, and started back for Zurich. The quiet life had done me good. I 
was rested and invigorated. My work was nearly over. I was like a school- 
boy whose vacation is at "hand. There was only the short journey back to the 
university, the comparatively slight task of finishing up my thesis, the trip 
across the Atlantic, before I rested on the soft cushions of that professor's 
chair. And the key to it all, my precious papers, I would not intrust to 
the hands of baggage masters, but carried with me in a little brown canvas bag. 

" We had gone as far as Basel, where one must change cars. It is a 
little place with a common dingy station, having a ticket window on one side 
and a bench on the other. There was no one in it or about, to all appear- 
ances. We had only about twenty minutes before the Zurich train was due, 


so I put my bag and umbrella on the bench, and stepped to the ticket office. 
There was some delay. The ticket agent could not, or would not, under- 
stand, and it took me several minutes to straighten him out. Then I turned 
again taking up the ' Miserere ' where I had left off whistling to talk with 
him. My bag was gone ! " 

He did not notice the exclamation from the professor's wife, but hastened 
on, excitedly. 

" I could not, would not see it at first. I was ready to believe myself 
blind, — anything but the truth. No one had been there. No one could 
have come in. Who would want the poor old things but me, anyway? I 
searched every corner of that little room. I was almost frantic when I could 
find no traces. I accused the ticket agent, knowing that I was a fool all the 
time, for I had been blocking his narrow window completely, so that he knew 
no better than I what had gone on behind my back. My train came and 
went ; but I stayed about that little station for a week, making inquiries of 
everyone I saw about an old brown canvas bag. I searched the streets and 
outskirts of the town, and pried into the houses wherever I could. I had no 
money. No one seemed to take any interest in my loss. And then I heard 
that people were beginning to talk of me as the crazy stranger, and I did not 
know how nearly right they might be. 

"So I came back to Zurich," Dane went on more slowly, "but I 
couldn't see my way clear to anything, and I didn't care. I had always had 
a hard time, had struggled against my bad luck all my life, and then I made 
up my mind to give it up. I had just money enough to take me home steer- 
age, and I went, without seeing anybody. 

" I couldn't bear to look at a book for awhile, so I went to work on a 
farm. I suppose it was weak and foolish, Mrs. Van Dorm, but — I have never 
yet ventured to sit in judgment on the man who did it." 

There was a long pause, then Mr. Dane rose. "I think I'll not wait 
for the tea, Mrs. Van," he said in the old fashion. " I didn't mean to talk 
so much about myself, but you always made me, and I know you'll under- 
stand. And I may come again? Yes; I am to be in Zurich some time. 
You see," rather nervously, " things have been prospering somewhat better 
with me lately, but I have felt more and more uncomfortable about this, and 
I've thought more and more about the — the cowardice of it, so — I've come 


back to do it over. Probably," there was a thoughtfulness in his voice, 
"probably I shall get more out of it now, any way." 

Mrs. Van had crossed the room to where he stood. He was not the 
kind of man you could make a hero of, exactly. The little professor's wife 
herself could put her hands on his shoulders. And she did. 

" You've come back, after this time, to do it over," she said, slowly, 
emphatically, looking him square in the eyes. "Well, I shall not forget 
you again." 

Grace M. Denxison. 


As far as anyone knows, — and there are many gossips in Centreville, — 
he has walked home with her every Friday evening for years from the weekly 
church meeting. He seldom goes farther than the gate, and does not accept 
her unfailing invitation to come in, except rarely on winter evenings if it is 
very cold; for Centreville people do not stay out long after nine, and that 
is the hour the prayer meeting closes. On summer evenings, however, he 
leans over the gate, and passes a final decision on the weather with her, she 
standing erect quite firmly, meanwhile, with her Testament in her neatly 
gloved hands. She entertains him every Tuesday evening, besides, in the 
back parlor of the quaint little boarding place she makes her home. Pass- 
ing the room one evening when the door was ajar I saw them. He was 
leaning back in a chair, fast asleep. She was playing solitaire. It was an 
epitome of their mutual relations, for he is, in reality, fast asleep to the 
situation, and she is still, metaphorically speaking, playing solitaire. 

F., '96. 


Uncle Remus was a good old soul, and one of the very pillars of the 
church down at Clay Corners. He could spell out a text of a Sunday almost 
as well as Elder Bryan, the good pastor himself. He was a fervent ex- 
horter, and when he " wrasstled " with the Spirit in meeting, there was sure 
to be a noticeable uplifting of the little flock. The old man's relation of 
Biblical facts, too, was something remarkable, and ought to have counted 


for much in the proper bringing up of the youth of the congregation ; for 
the moral of the tale was always admirably and forcibly fitted, even though 
the facts themselves did not at all times accord with the generally accepted 
version. In short, Uncle Remus was Elder Bryan's mainstay and support, 
and it is hard to say how the good brothers and sisters of the church could 
have got along without him. 

But Uncle Remus had his faults, and the chief of these was apt to show 
itself too plainly in his frequent prayers. The old man was ambitious of 
distinction, although it may have been only his deep piety manifesting it- 
self in a misleading way. At any rate he prayed too often, so the brethren 
thought, " for de good Lawd to sen' de Angel Gabriel, with a golden chariot, 
for to tote oF Uncle Remus straight up to the pearly gates o' Zion." 

This had been the burden of his prayers all through the long revival 
season that always began with the summer camp meetings of the church at 
Clay Corners. In fact, ever since Uncle Remus had left the ranks of the 
backsliders years before, this ride in the golden chariot had been, appar- 
ently, his one desire. 

In spite of his heavenly aspirations, however, Uncle Remus took an 
active part in all the ceremonies of the meetings. He was, as it were, the 
self-appointed sexton, and saw to it that the pine knots flared in their places 
every night, save when the bright moonlight made them unnecessary. It 
was Uncle Remus who led in the wild fervor of the "Jerusalem jump," 
when the enthusiasm of the congregation reached the highest pitch. He 
also started the singing, and could be heard above the others, shouting or 
groaning, according as the Spirit moved the flock to sing " The Glory o' the 
Golden Streets," or, " O Sinner, look-a where you's a-going," swaying back 
and forth and beating time the while. Sooner or later, however, the old 
negro was sure to revert to his favorite theme. Long and impressively did 
he pray for the golden chariot that was to whirl him away in a great blaze 
of glory. 

One night, late in the summer, the meeting was prevented by a storm 
that swept suddenly down from the mountains on the east. Heavy clouds 
blackened the sky, and vivid flashes of lightning lent at times a weird appear- 
ance to the trees, bending and swaying in the wind and rain. For the most 
part, darkness reigned among the whitewashed huts of the negroes. Only 


in Uncle Remus's cabin, isolated somewhat from the others, was the feeble 
light of a candle visible. 

Within, the old man sat upon the floor, swaying rhythmically back and 
forward to the crooning sound of his own melodies. In the lull of the storm 
his voice could be heard in lusty supplication for the golden chariot. Sud- 
denly a violent crash of thunder drowned all lesser sounds. As it rever- 
berated and rolled away the old negro sat still listening. Surely that was a 
voice calling softly, "Remus, Uncle Remus!" The sound came Aveirdly 
down from above. 

" Who's da?" cried the old man, rising tremblingly upon his feet. 

" De Angel Gabriel," was the reply; "git yoursel' ready, Uncle 
Remus. 'Fore de mawnin^ lijrht de Ano;el Gabriel is a-comin' for to fetch 

© © © 

ol' Uncle Remus up the golden stairs." 

Scarcely had the words been spoken before the light in the little cabin 
vanished. With a quick breath the old negro had blown out the candle, and 
now from the darkness came, in piously regretful accents, " I's sorry, sah, 
but you's made a mistake dis time. Dat ol' nigger, Remus, what you's 
a-lookin' for, has been dead dis long time. He doan live here no mo." 

So it was that Uncle Remus missed at last his chance to ride in the 

golden chariot. Whether it was visions of the watermelons still ripening on 

the vines, or thoughts of the 'possum hunts yet in store for him, that deterred 

him at the last moment, is hard to say. But it is reasonable to conclude 

that he will now have to content himself with traveling the ordinary way 

out of this world. 

E. V. Patterson. 


A gray, gray sky, and a gray, gray sea, 

A gray fog hangs between ; 
And never a ray that makes its way 

From the shrouded sun is seen. 

But still to kiss the sea the sky 

Is bending, and the sea 
Stretches its hand to reach the land ; — 

Love is no phantasy. 

E. Loudon, '90. 



With her gayety, her good-nature, her happy self-complacency, undis- 
turbed by constant failures, — with her shrewdness and her silliness and her 
erratic sense of propriety, she is a type. She is Daisy Miller, — the Ameri- 
can young woman who, according to Mr. Howells and Mr. Robert Grant, 
is as extinct as the mastodon. Extinct ! So much that is happy and pretty 
and endlessly amusing ! Why, there is something as refreshing in the very 
badness of her manners as in the tilt of her impudent little nose. 

The Italian ambassador was a most bewildering person. He came un- 
announced, merely presenting his card: " Guido Campanini, Secretary of 
Legation to H. M. the King of Italy," — and requesting to see the College. 
His English was the most unintelligible and the most fluent we had ever 
heard; for three hours he walked about the buildings and grounds, looking 
at nothing, and never for one instant checking that stream of mutilated 
words and sentences. When we grew expert enough to catch a clew to his 
meaning, we found that his topic was Woman. He had made the subject a 
life study, and had written a book, in two volumes, proving that the blonde 
is the ideal type. His discourse was nonsense without interruption ; his 
manner had the touch of the older civilization, too often missed in better 
men. He remains a puzzle still. There are those who hold that he was not 
Secretaiy of Legation to H. M. the King of Italy at all, but a base impostor ; 
but how purposeless a masquerade unless, like Colonel Sapt, he loved a good 
lie for its own sake ! The real problem is, it seems to me, Was he sane or 
not? And that is as hard a question as Hamlet's madness. 

Florence McM. Painter. 



A glimpse of work among the Southern negroes I cannot give, but I can 
tell a few West Indian negro tales. We started on this trip to the Wind- 
ward and Leeward Islands one gray February afternoon. As for the weather, 


suffice it to say that we went into the thick of the February hurricane. We 
had a deck stateroom, and it is yet a mooted question between us which is 
the worse, — to be very sick, or not to be at all sick, but to be housed in a 
little hole of a stateroom, because it is not safe for one to venture out on the 
decks. Forty-eight hours of uninterrupted bumping back and forth in a 
berth gives one time to think unutterable things. Bermuda was hailed 
with joy :ts dry land. You have all heard about Bermuda, with its white 
coral streets and houses, its beds of onions and lilies, and its clean and in- 
variable' pleasant negroes, ever ready with their " Mawning, missus." So we 
will not stop at Bermuda, but will go on to St. Kitts. 

St. Kitts, with its red-roofed houses nestled among the trees, is pictur- 
esque, — at a distance. But at close quarters we proved the saying, " Dis- 
tance lends enchantment." There is no dock at St. Kitts, so one is rowed 
ashore from the steamer by colored oarsmen. You must wait full ten min- 
utes after you appear on the ship's ladder for the boatmen to fight for the 
honor of rowing you ashore. 

Once there, moreover, you are driven nearly insane by the frantic efforts 
of fifty or more negroes to get you anything you wish, or take you anywhere 
you choose, even to the moon. You are besieged by such questions as, 
" Missus, give me penny?" " Pretty lady, 'member de poo' ole' 'ooman ?" 
When asked why one should give them money, they reply, "Case I'se so 

The negroes are of all colors, from the darkest to the lightest, and all 
are equally lazy and shiftless. One cannot blame them too severely, how- 
ever, for the West Indian climate is certainly enervating. They are the 
gayest, most light-hearted people that one could find ; always ready to 
laugh and joke, and more than ready to stop work to gossip with friends 
under the cool shade of a banyan tree. When an idea once penetrates their 
wool it is never lost. For instance, one of our party happened to have very 
curly hair. The women noticed this first, and looked hard at her, then 
brought others to see the sight. After much talking among themselves, one 
old mammy dared tell her, " You's colored." And neither the fair skin 
and blue eyes of the amused one, nor the denials of the rest of our party, 
could convince them. 

Shoes and stockings are a luxuiy for Sunday only. The clothes of the 


men and women often look quilted, because of much patching. The women 
all wear bright Madras handkerchiefs on their heads ; and if some are aristo- 
cratic enough for hats, these are perched on top of the turbans. In Bar- 
badoes white handkerchiefs are the fashion, rather than colored. The little 
children are not burdened with clothes of any description, and they look like 
so many animated bronze statues running about. The women can hardly be 
troubled with housekeeping cares, for the houses are most dilapidated af- 
fairs. An Irishman's shanty would be a well-built house compared with one 
of these hovels. They are about as large as a "main building" bedroom, 
and when you learn that families of thirteen or fourteen live in these huts, 
you are convinced that the West Indian negro is like an "all-wool" garment, 
— capable of much shrinkage. 

Everywhere the negroes are anxious to come to America, or Boston, as 
they put it. If the older ones cannot come they are desirous that the 
younger people should attain to the bliss of Boston. One mother oifered 
me her seven-year-old boy for a shilling, if I would take him home with me. 
When I objected, on the grounds that she would miss the child, I was as- 
sured, " O no ; I'se got ten or twelve mo'." 

It would never do to leave the band of St. Kitts undescribed. There 
were five pieces in all : an old battered French horn, that looked as if it 
might have banged the heads of fifty negroes, an accordion, a piccolo, a tri- 
angle, and a tin can filled with pebbles. That old can was the life of the 
band ; it whirred, buzzed, and gave quick, sharp beats. The man who — 
what shall I say? — played(?) it, seemed to be tireless. We all concluded 
he must have the strength of a Yale athlete in his right arm. We were 
treated to " After the Ball," " Daisy Bell," and such novelties ; and last, but 
not least, to a crazy negro arrangement of Yankee Doodle. 

These West Indian negroes are superstitious to the last degree. For 
instance, in Dominica my pony shied, and my guide crossed himself. When 
asked what was the matter, he said, " He see Obeah." This Obeah is an all- 
embracing term for witches, devils, and such folk, and is most thoroughly 
significant to the negroes. 

Dominica is too beautiful to be passed over without a word. Imagine, 
if you can, an island all mountains, rising sheer from the bluest of blue 
water. The mountains are all high, and covered to the very top with the 


most luxuriant foliage. There are some wonderful sulphur springs at Do- 
minica, which one ought not to miss. The only way they can he reached is 
hy a bridle path. Such little mangy, ugly ponies as we had from which to 
make our choice ! As my experience in riding was confined to a childish 
attempt at riding a cow, I selected the sorriest, meekest-looking pony of the 
lot. Alas for my hopes ! My steed was ambitious, and just as, I was getting 
comfortable in the saddle, the boys of the party decided to race. I hardly 
knew what had happened when I found myself bumping along at a. furious 
gallop. My hat wobbled, first over one car, and then over the other, while I 
equaled it by bumping briskly from the pony's neck to his tail ; first on the 
left of the saddle and then on the right. Beware of meek-looking ponies in 

Our path wound through the most beautiful orange, lime and cocoa 
groves. In some places great chasms yawned on one side of us, while on 
the other a high wall rose perpendicularly. Everywhere were the most 
gorgeous flowers and foliage. All things steamed, for it showered at least 
every ten minutes. Each one of us had a small boy attendant, who pattered 
over the sharp stones as unconcernedly as if he were walking on cotton 
wool. Occasionally he would stop to pull a thorn from his foot, and trot on 

Just as we flattered ourselves that we were at the springs, we found we 
must be carried across a river. Our guides picked us up and started. I 
feared I was too heavy for mine, but he assured me that I was light. Im- 
agine the humiliation to my vanity when I was carried back by two men ! 

Anyone who has worked in chemical qualitative analysis will know 
when she nears the Dominican springs, for the air is loaded with H 2 S. One 
lady mildly put it, "It smells queer." Queer, indeed! The rocks above 
the springs were all discolored by the sulphur, and encrusted with it. The 
springs themselves looked like slowly bubbling gray mud. Eggs cooked 
quickly in this mud, but the odor and steam soon drove us away. 

These are but a few of the odd things one hears and sees in the West 
Indies. If you desire new experiences, take a voyage to the far-famed 

Frances E. Hildreth, '95. 



The growth of the College makes it harder each year to preserve invio- 
late the beauty of our grounds. New paths are cut, the old ones are beaten 
broader, solitary spots become frequented, poles and wires are put up for 
electric lights, new buildings must be raised as we get money, and more and 
more constant attention to repairs is needed. The committee on grounds in 
the Board of Trustees have a task of constantly increasing difficulty and re- 
sponsibility. The members of this committee, moreover, live out of Wellesley, 
and supervision of our extensive estate demands of them much trouble and sac- 
rifice of many days. It is time to come to their aid with reinforcements. Why 
should we not have a committee on grounds in the Faculty to work with the 
trustees? There are small passing needs for attention to the grounds which 
a non-resident committee cannot supply, because there can be no certainty 
that any member of the committee will be on the particular spot at the par- 
ticular time. For instance, the campus was boiled last spring, — watered day 
after day in the hot noon sun. The board walk through the pear orchard 
has been unsafe for students in slippery weather this past winter, because so 
many of the cross laths were broken away. A tree which might have been 
saved was taken up near the Simpson board walk when the electric-light 
poles were placed. A Faculty committee could give attention to these 
small, important things. Workmen could understand that they were to do 
no tree-felling or anything of that kind without authority, and there would 
be no chance for any part of the grounds to suffer from the ignorance or 
neglect of care-takers. 

Another need for such a committee is su2:2;ested by certain remarks in this 
issue on the athletic field and the boathouse. Both field and boathouse were 
needed ; but both have detracted from the beauty of the grounds by being 
put where they are. If future classes have a body with whom they may con- 
sult readily, thoroughly, and often, their gifts and improvements may be 
more advantageously placed. 

Being always on the spot would not, however, be the only advantage of 
a Faculty committee. The Faculty know the grounds as no one else but the 


students can — some of them far better than any of the students. Only those 
whose daily life is spent in Wellesley can know by heart the curves of every 
little mound, and the order in which the trees bud and shed their leaves ; can 
find the red squirrels and the cranberries, and tell with their eyes shut the 
feel of each hit of a path to the feet. And it stands to reason that the 
people with the most intimate and sensitive knowledge of the grounds can 
be of great assistance in so planning improvements as to preserve and 
heighten the beauty of the place. 

But no amount of official care and protection can fully care for and pro- 
tect our grounds. The final touches lie in the hands of the students — our 
hands. There ought to be a student conscience about keeping our out-of- 
doors beautiful. Just now, this conscience might direct itself to three things. 
In the first place, don't let us cut any unnecessary paths over the campus. 
We have begun two paths that we ought to give up at once. One of them 
is on the way to the Chemistry building. We cross the road from the as- 
phalt and strike a board walk, which turns after a few yards and runs on to 
the Chemistry building. But instead of walking on it to the turn, we have 
begun a cut to avoid doing so. This cut saves us six or eight steps, but 
it detracts much from the looks of a corner which already labors under the 
disadvantages of a great deal of roadway and dust. Can we not give it up, 
and take the few extra steps? The other cut is the new one from Stone Hall 
to the path between Music Hall and the Art Building. There has been one 
such cut for a year past, but we are now beginning a second. These paths 
mar the campus sadly, and surely the second one is unnecessary. In the 
next place, we could be more careful about broadening the paths we have al- 
ready. When '97 entered College, the path from the East Lodge to the east 
door looked so unfrequented, that several of us, entering the grounds for the 
first time alone, took it for a sort of cow track, and were careful for two or 
three days to walk to the Main Building along the whole length of the drive. 
Ninety-seven broadened the path that year, of course, for it brought the great- 
est student avalanche that had struck the village. It is broad enough 
now. Yet we keep on widening it by walking on the edges instead 
of in the middle. True, the middle is dusty — gets sand in our shoes and 


spoils our skirts ; but not before the board walks are taken up. Yet even 
while they are down, we are careless about trampling the edges of the grass. 
We are beginning, too, to walk on the edge of the round plot before the 
north door, instead of on the road, so that the grass looks a little frayed 
round the border. For the first time, however, there are no signs this spring 
of a desire to cut a path in the line of the board walk across that plot, or 
over the brow of the campus in a bee-line for Norumbega, — a desire which has 
always been manifested hitherto, even in the face of bars and fences. That 
is good, but we ought to make it unnecessary to put up bars and fences at all. 
We ought to be able to decide at once for ourselves that we won't make ruts 
in the sides of our hill. 

We think, in the third place, that we might spare the wild flowers more 
than we do. This, of course, is a matter of opinion. It is not wrong to pull 
the flowers, if one likes to treat them that way. Only — the result of the yearly 
pulling is a yearly diminishing, and the girls of to-day who gather the wild 
flowers are making it impossible for the girls of to-morrow to enjoy them, 
and are helping to destroy one of the sweetest charms of Wellesley. Of the 
fourth matter of conscience there is no question. We certainly ought not to 
drop trash around on the grounds. Our bits of orange skin, and banana peel, 
and the ends of letters should not be foisted on the public eye at the side of 
the walks and on the campus. We ought to keep them until we get home to 
our wastebaskets. 

The new girls, naturally, cannot have the strong feeling of upper-class 
girls for the grounds, although they see that they are beautiful ; but if 
each older girl would try to cultivate in herself so genuine a sympathy for 
the beauty around her that she could not be careless of it or desecrate it, 
the younger students would soon catch the sense of the sacredness of our 
rare out-of-doors. 


A Free Press article in this issue presents strongly the claim of the 
basket-ball teams to the athletic field. The writer knows her subject. She 
is on the '97 team, and has played on both the spots used for the purpose at 
present. Certainly, if the College desires to uphold out-door sports, it must 
uphold basket-ball, and give the teams all possible advantages. If the 


present grounds are not fitted for playing, and we have a spot that is fitted, 
is it wise to convert that spot into a garden? It is rather hard on the teams 
in the first place ; in the second place, is a garden in that spot desirable? If 
trees were planted there they would obscure a very beautiful view of the lake. 
If flowers were planted it is doubtful whether they would present enough im- 
provement on the grass to counterbalance the loss to the teams. The ques- 
tion between field and garden is at least worth careful reconsideration. 


The estimate of societies, by a non-society girl, in a Free Press article 
this month, will doubtless seem very unjust to many society girls. They will 
think it a prejudiced generalization made from rather superficial observation. 
But we beg the society girls not to meet the article in the spirit of indignant 
contradiction, or even of indifference, but to try to put themselves in the 
place of the writer, and then frankly and impartially to look for the grounds 
of her opinion. The article is not bitter, nor does the writer pretend to lay 
the conduct of society girls to any motives. A large acquaintance among 
non-society students enables us to state positively that a general — we do not 
say universal — feeling among these girls is expressed. And a general feeling, 
however mistaken, does not grow up without some basis. 


The committee for collecting contributions for the new additional house 
for the College Settlement on Tyler Street, next door to Denison House, is 
now at work among the students. Anyone will realize the great need of 
Denison House for this additional accommodation, when she understands 
that only one class an evening can meet in the present quarters ; that there 
is no suitable place for the boys' club ; that the mothers' club, held in the 
parlor, is necessarily subject to inundations of outside guests, who must be 
received into the discussion, and that the pleasant old practice of having the 
children in on Saturday afternoons has had to be given up. The addition of 
the new house will remove these difficulties. There are five bedrooms up- 
stairs, and accommodations for the boys' club in the basement, and the 
whole first floor is thrown into a large room which is designed by the Settle- 
ment to be " the beautiful part of the house." As Miss Dudley says, "Den- 


ison House is very nice, and has some pretty things, but it is not possible 
to make an ideal room there. This big room in the second house we want 
to have perfect, as far as it goes, in tinting, in furnishing, in outline." 
Various colleges are helping to furnish the house. Smith has undertaken a 
room upstairs, and two other colleges have followed her example. The 
Chapter of the Wellesley Alumnae have authorized Denison House to lay 
a hard wood floor in the big downstairs room, and raised above a hundred 
dollars for the purpose. The Wellesley Undergraduate Chapter wants to 
fall into line, and complete the furnishing of that room — " the beautiful part 
of the house." The Chapter cannot do it alone, however. Indeed, it is not 
simply chapter work. The neighborhood friends of Denison House feel 
quite familiar with Wellesley College girls. But they do not think of those 
they meet as members of a chapter ; they think of them as members of the 
College. If the room is furnished by our students they will know it as a 
gift from the College, not from the Chapter. And it seems to us that 
Wellesley could have no more fitting token than a really beautiful room in' 
the Settlement, with which it is peculiarly, intimately associated. 


Your ears, if you please ! We want to beg you to sign your name to 
anything you send to the Magazine. Sign it for the editors, we mean, not 
necessarily for the public. Certainly articles may be sent, and published, 
unsigned, but the position is awkward, to say the least, for the editors. If 
the article sent is not published we want to do two things : talk or write 
to the sender about it, and give it back to her. We cannot get rid of a 
very discourteous feeling when an article is simply ignored, as one unsigned 
and unpublished must be. Though for various reasons the article may not 
be just suitable for publishing, it has usually meant something to the writer, 
and we want to acknowledge this, and to tell her why we cannot use her 
work. Sometimes, again, matter comes in unsigned which ought to be pub- 
lished, which we are anxious to publish, but which needs imperatively to be 
changed or modified in some way. This is the most distressing situation 
we have yet come across. We want with a mighty want to consult with 
that unknown girl, and we think if she gave us the chance she would not 
be sorry. Even when articles come that are quite ready for use, it would be 
very satisfactory to know who wrote them. 



Beauty, health, convenience? Convenience, health, beauty? Which is 
the better order? The first was mediaeval, if we may trust our art critics; 
the second is eminently modern. Is it possible to imagine a third order 
Utopian, — yet some Utopias have been realized, — which should emphasize 
health first, of course, health last, health always, but should at least occa- 
sionally be willing to assign beauty the precedence over convenience? 

Does some one say that convenience and health are synonyms ? Not at 
all. A short cut is doubtless convenient when one is late or lazy, but the 
longest way round is often the shortest way to health, especially among 
people leading a sedentary life, and rarely getting as much fresh air as they 

If a vote were taken, I believe ninety-five per cent of our college 
public would choose to maintain and develop the beauty of Wellesley, 
even at the sacrifice of some degree of convenience. We should surely have 
cause for lamentation were it otherwise in an academic community. Con- 
venience comes first, for the most part, in the world outside. Some of the glori- 
ous places of the earth are becoming impossible to the modest lover of nature. 
In the interests of rapid transit and material comfort, the splendors of the 
Alps are profaned. Railway gashes are cut through their noble mountain 
lines, table d'hote dinners served on their lonely summits, and the virgin 
snows of the Jungfrau protest in vain when an elevator is shot up through 
the outraged heart of her. Meanwhile the spirit of commercialism drives 
apartment houses up into the city sky, at the very moment when a net work 
of electric lines would seem to make concentration of people needless. 
Against these things we can never protest directly. But an indirect protest 
is silently uttered by every noble college and university, standing in its seclu- 
sion for the preservation of life's higher and less utilitarian values. No one 
can overestimate the worth in modern England of the quaint and quiet 
dignity of the beautiful university towns, where reverence for the past still 
holds in check the march of modern improvement. We in Wellesley have 
not much human past to reverence, not many artistic monuments to pre- 
serve. All the more reason why we should jealously guard that beauty 


bequeathed to us by ages yet more remote than those which gave England 
its noble architecture — the beauty of the countenance of Mother Earth, 
which in our little world has quite singular interest and charm. 

This is no plea for sentimental conservatism. Changes have to be, 
and it is the human privilege to make nature moi^e lovely because more 
available. Only, in all change, the true landscape artist never contradicts 
Nature, but follows her lead and reveals her full intention. This principle 
was delightfully and remarkably carried out in the first planning of the 
Wellesley grounds. Meanwhile, we all know that the ugliest times are 
times of transition, and we may be glad to trace, especially of late, many 
a move toward permanence. A board walk, for instance, is a hideous object 
neither rural nor urban. Thousands of exquisite associations blossom along 
the footpath where Mother Earth bears patient witness to the tread of eager 
pilgrim feet. On the other hand, a brick or stone pavement is dignified and 
suitable in its place. The board walk is a miserable compromise. We 
all hailed with gratitude, therefore, the solid and permanent path laid last 
summer by the side of the campus, and others of the same kind would be 
welcomed along our chief thoroughfares. But might we not keep a few 
footpaths also — a very few, especially in routes which are purely voluntary, 
and where an alternative way offers good transit in bad weather with no 
more serious loss than that of five minutes' time? Some modifications are 
necessary as the College grows ; others may be made or not, according as 
saving of time or saving of beauty is the chief desire. Others still (alas ! 
that they are not unknown in the last few years) are the result of pure wanton- 
ness. Let us welcome the first class ; let us lift up our voices against the 
third ; and as to the second, let us remember that the preservation of aes- 
thetic values is the outward and visible sign of our very end and aim, — the 
preservation of the inner values of thought and faith. Hundreds still with 
us, hundreds more who have left us, cherish with loyal devotion every least 
detail of our lovely heritage, every tender undulation, every noble tree, 
every wild nook of woodland tangle. Only those who have lived at Welles- 
ley can really know her. Some of these things must doubtless be sacrificed 
as time goes on, and certain thoughtful plans carried out for us of late show 
that from such changes a fuller beauty may at times emerge. May we not 
beg, then, that changes be made cautiously, unobtrusively, with deference to 


the will of Nature, and always in the spirit of loving reverence for the rare 
beauty intrusted to us, first by the great Mother herself, and then by that 
true priest others, our generous founder? 


A RECENT visit to "Wellesley has revealed many and startling changes in 
the outdoor world. "While rejoicing in the many signs of progress which the 
past few years in especial have brought to the inner Wellesley, an alumna 
could weep over the scars upon the beauty of the nature world, — a beauty 
which has made her Alma Mater unique and pre-eminent amongst American 

All the clinging wisteria which glorified the south side of the Main 
Building with its purple bloom has been torn down ruthlessly. Nature's 
work for twenty-five years has been destroyed in a few hours by those who, 
if report be true, had the sanction of none in authority. The bushes and 
vines which covered the ugliness of the swamp near the ice house, and in full 
view of the sunset windows of Norumbega, have been cut down in the interests 
of hygiene. The song birds which have flitted thereabouts have gone else- 
where. The curving, shaded path which led past the ice house toward the 
"West Lodge was made hideous some years ago in the interests of sanitation. 
One could almost breath anathemas upon the modern mania for microbes. 
However, these changes may have been best, and one would not be narrow- 
minded. All thanks and gratitude are due for the electric lights. By night 
they render the trees and roads only the more beautiful. By day, one cannot 
help wishing that the poles had been placed with a view to the natural curves 
of the land and roadways, and not on the stern mathematical principle of the 
shortest distance between any two given points. To pi'ove this axiom, trees 
have fallen victims to the axe ; symmetry has been destroyed. The question 
arises, " Why need poles have been used at all?" 

Far be it from any of the older alumna? to criticize the class whose loyalty 
and devotion turned the old buttercup meadow at the foot of Stone Hall hill 
into an athletic field, and heaped up the earth near the foot of that grand old 
oak so that part of its beauty is gone ; or the class who have fulfilled a long- 
felt want and made a shelter for the boats, but who have concealed the view 
along the shore toward Tupelo. Let it be hoped that future classes will 


consider most carefully these precedents. In the swamp filled with white 
birches, directly behind Music Hall and the tennis courts, the wantonness of 
workmen has cut a broad road, wide enough for two ice carts to pass. Here 
also the birds have been disturbed. The place is as unsightly as any dirt- 
heap outside of a newly made city. The old "coal-gate" road has been 
improved, but one result has been to make it far easier for the coaches and 
carriages which bring visitors from the station to scurry up "the back way." 
The long, stately driveway and pretty stone lodge, so carefully planned by the 
founder of Wellesley, are now rarely the introduction to the college buildings. 
Even the old path across the meadow is not the joy it once was, for the 
ugliest, the most hideous of the devastations has here been wrought. The 
daisy field is crossed by a staring board walk, and, oh to think of it ! through 
the soft contour of one of the little hills is a deep, ugly gash, "a short cut." 
Across the low land, purple and white with violets each spring, is a long trail 
of earth, on which the board walk rests. It is as dismal and uninteresting as 
a railroad track, and one has analogous pleasure in walking thereon. Time 
and Dame Nature may heal some of the other scars, but nothing can restore 
the outline of the hills and the old-time grace of the daisy field. 

To bewail these changes is not sentimental; it is not unprogressive. 
As students we loved the beautiful Wellesley world. As alumnai, the deep 
influence which that beauty has given grows stronger with every year. To 
those of the alumnre who have been transplanted to the prairie cities, where 
there is no natural comeliness, the vision of Alma Mater, "with all its wealth 
of woods and waters," is peculiarly an inspiration. Quietness and peace, the 
courage for fresh endeavor, come through that composite of memories. The 
educational value of such surroundings needs no proof. The Greeks taught 
the world that long ago, and made Truth and Beauty synonymous. The 
object of these brief statements is to place before the alumna?, who have not 
had the pain of a recent visit to their Alma Mater, the havoc wrought in "the 
College Beautiful." Is it right that such things can be? Should workmen, 
untrained in landscape gardening and with no sense of the eternal fitness of 
things, be allowed to hack and cut at will ? As loyal alumnse let us enter a 
vigorous protest. 

Caroline L. Willi amson, '89. 


The spirit of change at work here at Wellesley is in some ways less 
painful to the undergraduate than to the alumna who revisits the College after 
months or years away. The student hears the improvements canvassed, and 
watches them progress, interested if injured. She is accustomed to them 
gradually. There is one of our recent changes, however, which even the 
apathetic undergraduate mind cannot get used to. That is the board walk 
across the meadow. 

If it had been a necessary measure we could have submitted to the 
destruction of one of Wellesley's most delightful features. But almost all of 
us fail to grasp what benefit we gain to make up for our loss. It seems, in 
the first place, that the necessity of a boardwalk across the meadow might be 
a disputed point. There is the comfortable walk from Fiske through the 
Simpson woods, a little longer, to be sure, but sheltered from the biting wind 
which sweeps across the meadow. Moreover, in all but the worst weather, 
the meadow has been passable, for those who preferred it, without a path. 
Besides, there were two other ways in which a walk might have been laid. 
It might have followed the road, and then skirted the village street, here, too, 
sheltered ; or it might have gone in the old track and passed under the oaks. 
There was no need of gashing and scarring the little hill for the sake of saving 
a few steps. 

This is not the protest alone of one who does not need to go back and 
forth across the meadow, and so can sentimentalize. The remonstrance comes 
even more strongly from those who do pass over the meadow day by day. 
They alone can estimate just how much the repose and unworldliness of the 
curving path mean in our busy life. They realize that we hustle here and 
there with our eyes fixed on board walks altogether too much here at 
Wellesley. They can tell better than casual visitors, passers-by on the train, 
or an}' outsiders, however well meaning, what kind of a walk is needed across 
the fields. They know, and we all know, that we do not want the Wellesley 
we have known and loved spoiled little by little. The world is ugly enough. 
America is ugly enough, and it is growing uglier and more sophisticated. 
Here AVellesley gains — has gained, at least — its great advantage. It can 
grow mellower and more beautiful year by year, if it will, while the world 
grow r s dingy and smoky outside. It can, hut is it going to? It must needs 
give up some things to gain others that are better. We realize that. We 


do not want to be peevish, sentimental, exacting. But we do want to be sure 
that we are gaining, before we give up anything so beautiful and so distinct- 
ive as the curves of the little path worn across the meadow. 

A. F. Wilson, '96. 


It is only a little thing to say " Thank you," but it is one of the little 
things that count. That is why I wish to be the mouthpiece of many girls in 
saying the " Thank you" to Dr. Clark and other trustees for the plank walk 
across the meadow. It is a great and unqualified blessing that means, for 
just one thing, no more wet feet. To feel that there is no longer a pond to 
be paddled through on stormy days is a great relief. Again, the shortened 
distance is most welcome in our whirl, where every minute is valued. But 
it is not worth while to enumerate the various comforts and advantages of 
our new board walk. They are apparent to those who use it. Let us sim- 
ply be truly grateful for this improvement, and say most heartily, " Thank 

Elizabeth S. Adams, '96. 

Those who have walked back and forth over the meadows in all sorts 
of weather, realize more than any others what the new board walk means. 
It may be straight and conventional, as the meadow path was not, but it has 
the acknowledged merit of otferino; a drv and sure footing. Now that the 
hill has been sloped to resemble nature, and the grass has given promise to 
cover the bare ground, the gap is no longer a defacement, as was once 
thought it would be. The students feel that too much cannot be said of Dr. 
Clark's thoughtfulness in matters where their comfort and convenience have 
been concerned. Too much gratitude cannot, indeed, be given to a man 
who has spent not only his money but his time — even to the extent of fore- 
going part of a summer vacation — that he might carry out plans which 
should benefit the whole of the college community. 

E. M., '97. 

The report of Dr. Clark's resignation from the Board of Trustees can- 
not be allowed to pass without open expression of the deep regret that is so 


widely felt among the students. We owe a very great debt of gratitude 
to Dr. Clark, not only for the actual and tangible benefits that his interest 
and energy have secured for us, but still more for the interest itself, the 
good will he has shown in personally interesting himself in our concerns, and 
in going to no small trouble to discover our needs and supply them. Dr. 
Clark may not know how fully he has the friendship of the students at 
large. Those of us who have known the charm of Dr. Clark's personality 
will feel his absence as an individual loss, and all regret an interested and 
active friend. 

F. McM. Painter, '97. 

Is there any one who has given to Wellesley more good-natured atten- 
tion, more honest friendliness, than Dr. Clark? I think not. Why should 
we let him go without vigorously expressing our regret, and doing what we 
can to keep so good a friend ? 

S. V. Sherwood, '96. 

It is difficult to realize that the Wellesley springtime is no longer a 
memory picture but a beautiful reality, and that the days are come when this 
year's seniors are sobered by the nearness of Commencement ; yet the green 
things, and the soft, warm winds, force the truth upon us, and one "old 
girl " would speak some words of comfort to the Class of '96. 

Before leaving the College Beautiful last June, a popular fallacy had 
been so firmly impressed upon my mind, as to give rise to the conviction 
that the first year out of college was necessarily the most unhappy period of 
a girl's existence, and that higher education probably unfitted a woman for 
the serene enjoyment of a quiet life at home. Strangely enough, this erro- 
neous idea was due in creat measure to conversations with certain college 
graduates ; and since their authority seemed, at the time, to have great 
weight, I now, as a member of our noble army of alumnae, bear an opposite 

The dread of having nothing in particular to do, does not haunt the 
girls who plan to teach immediately. The fear lest they may " rust in 
shade" need not come to them. Those without definite plans for the coming 
year are the ones who should be cheered, and to them I would say that 


though no glorious career has fallen to my lot ; though it has not devolved 
upon me to assume all the household cares, yet this first year in the world 
has been most satisfactory, because it has brought new insight into human 
nature and an increased breadth of view. 

Whether a girl lives in a hirge city or in a little town, she is sure to be 
surrounded by those who have had less of opportunity and of culture than 
herself, and she will quietly discover, that together with the pleasure of giv- 
ing out a part of one's best self, comes an inestimable benefit from a closer 
contact with people. The absence of that indescribable something which 
characterizes the atmosphere of Boston and vicinity, is not fatal to the 
growth of one's ideals and aspirations. Indeed, it rather stimulates ambition, 
by making the individual responsibility greater. Sages have ever told us 
that no man is too narrow to have gained some real treasure from life's ex- 
perience, yet the realization that " the same heart beats in every breast," is 
to most of us as a new discovery, and the smallest effort to help in hasten- 
ing the coming of that "one, far-off divine event," is repaid in a way which 
makes life sweet and well worth the living. 

L. M. P., '95. 

Women everywhere are coming to a full recognition of their need of 
athletics. It is not the Wellesley women either that are among the laggards. 
Work here is being pushed along many lines. For this work to be efficient, 
moreover, it would be superfluous to say that worthy tools are necessities. 
Appreciation of this fact is shown in the crew boats and the tennis courts. 
Is it right, then, that perhaps the most popular sport of all, basket-ball, should 
put up with its present fields ? 

I have heard it officially stated that any part of the college grounds, ex- 
clusive of the campus, are open to the teams. In accordance with that state- 
ment it is probable that the two most suitable places have been selected. 
Yet beautiful as are our gently undulating grounds, they are ill adapted to 
such a use. The field in front of Music Hall is just uneven enough to be 
dangerously treacherous. The runner intent on the ball in mid-air cannot 
notice any falling or rising of the ground beneath her feet. She is liable to 
be thrown in a way impossible upon a level surface. One accident from 
such a cause has already occurred. The other field, the one used by '99 in 


the opening on the way to Tupelo, if the next best place to the first field, 
certainly shows the advisability of clinging to that unless a wholly different 
step is taken. There the field is crowded on the top of the little plateau, 
with one side slipping for about three feet over its rather abrupt descent, and 
the other pushed close up to the bushes. A large oak standing in one of the 
back courts, although perhaps capable of giving welcome shade in the hot 
weather when the contests are off, is also a serious disadvantage. 

Such, then, are the best grounds that are afforded, orthat will be afforded 
for some time, it seems, since the hard-worked college treasury cannot level and 
grade for us. But such is the seeming, and the seeming only, of the case. 
There are better grounds — suitable grounds, two of them within our very 
hands if we will but close them, and that now. The Athletic Field is no 
longer a soft, grassless eyesore. It is to-day perfectly firm, and covered with 
a healthy, vigorous growth of grass. Though no longer the beautiful mea- 
dow, it is now an unobjectionable stretch of green. Here, then, is exactly 
what the basket-ball teams have been coveting;. The '97 team has tried the 
field, and is willing to vouch for this. In its present condition the field is 
incomparably superior to anything else within our reach. If it should be 
rolled after a heavy rain, this superiority would be increased. Similar at- 
tention next spring to that received by the campus, would make the field all 
that is desirable. But that we do not ask ; the place as it is, would be 
enough. Our new athletic association could relieve the College of future 

There is nothing, moreover, if we ask, and ask vigorously, to prevent 
our having this great good. A friend has offered to plant a botanical 
garden over what once seemed to be a monument to freshman foolishness. 
The kind thought need not be spurned now. "We still will gratefully receive 
the botanical garden. "Wellesley, with its three hundred ample acres, need 
not destroy the satisfaction of one desire to satisfy another for any lack of 
room. The little time left, then, — for in the nature of things it is to be 
expected that the garden will be begun this fall, — we must use well in bring- 
ing this matter to the earof authority. More Free Press articles or a mass 
meeting are means ready to our hands. Our request is a reasonable one. If it 
is made known it will be granted, for authority is ever ready to listen to 
such. Mary W. Dewsox, '97. 


About the " loose screw " in our social life, there can be no doubt that 
there ought to be agitation. People outside say to us : " You at Wellesley? 
Have to work all the time, I suppose? Not much time for social life." And 
we have to confess to ourselves that though there might be time, there is very 
little chance. For a very great many of the girls our college life is one- 
sided, and is making them one-sided, and this is just what we do not want. 
College life should be broadening, with an all-round development, but ours 
in many cases is far too much on the intellectual side alone. Once in a 
while we realize that something is left out of the compound that ought to be 
there, and we grumble a little. Then we drop back into the old rut and for- 
get, until some accident again rouses the need in us. Some organization like 
those mentioned in the April Magazine, at our large sister colleges, might go 
far to supply this need. Cannot something definite be done about it? 

G. S., '98. 

A recent Free Press article on the tendency here to lose sight of the 
social side of life, expressed a very general feeling. Yet any remedy broad 
enough to reach the whole College — especially those who need it most, the 
confirmed " grinds" — is hard to find. In fact the case of the latter is gener- 
ally considered hopeless; but we all know of here and there a "grind "who 
under favorable circumstances would develop into — whatever the feminine 
equivalent is for a "good fellow"; a girl who could stand this process of 
evolution without prejudice to her college work. Such a girl merely drifts 
into the life of a " grind," because for various reasons it has been hard for 
her to find her own place in the social life of the College. Accustomed to a 
congenial home atmosphere and family friends, among whom she filled her 
own place, she finds it a strange experience to make new friends, and find a 
new place among such different surroundings. The independent girl gets 
over this difficulty comparatively easily, but her shyer sister, finding the 
struggle harder, often gives up this pleasant side of her college life alto- 
gether, and puts all her time and energy into her work. Such a girl does 
not need or care to work so hard, but has merely been drawn by circum- 
stances into a sort of college life in which she is certainly not filling the best 
possible place, nor getting the most possible enjoyment. We have heard all 
this before, but not yet often enough to convince us that "grinding," espe- 


daily in its early stages, is not an incurable malady, and that the patients 
are not more willing to be cured than we suppose. 

To such girls, espcciall}' in their freshman year, such an organization as 
the Radcliffe "Idler" would be the greatest possible benefit, for it would 
give them a sort of social life that they peculiarly need ; and this at the be- 
ginning of their college life, before people have begun to take them too seri- 
ously, expect them to " grind," and make it difficult for them to do anything 
else. And in this way they might be kept from a life which makes them 
less able to face the world as college graduates, than if they had never come 
here at all. 


Of the "three subjects spoken of by the students," considered in the 
rank and tile, the one dealing with our social life appeals to us most strongly. 
Every reasonable girl is well aware that not all the members of the student 
body can be received into the societies. The membership of each society is 
too limited to expect that they should be. Moreover, it is this comparatively 
small membership that gives the organizations half their charm. Every rea- 
sonable girl recognizes, also, the validity of loyalty on the part of all society 
members to their respective organizations. And she grants that limited so- 
ciety membership and loyalty to societies are quite consistent with a demo- 
cratic spirit. But she does not see how a " democratic spirit" can be said 
to pervade Wellesley. A democratic spirit would diffuse a sense of fellow- 
ship among all the students. But the members of the societies form sisterly 
cliques with untresspassable bounds. The average girl goes through her 
college course with the tinger-pressed-lip idea that nothing may even be 
said about these organizations. More than that, — and it is against this, and 
against this only, that she protests, — that a girl is not a member of a society 
means often that she is more or less ostracized. She is debarred in large 
measure from social relations with society members, many of whom are 
among the finest and noblest girls in college. And she is not taken for 
what she is, but for what she appears to be. Before we add another organi- 
zation to our lists, then, let us make a few changes for the better in those we 
have already. '97. 


At a meeting of the library committee April 23, the chairman was 
instructed to express cordial gratitude to the Class of '97, for their generous 
gift of $85 to the library. We wish also to acknowledge the same in the 
Wellesley Magazine. 

Elizabeth H. Denio, 

Chairman of the Library Committee. 


The April exchanges show, for the most part, new names in the lists of 
editors, and one might expect some confusion and weakness arising from 
inexperience. But the magazines have, in general, come up to their stand- 
ards well. 

The Dartmouth Lit. shows an appreciative paper on " The Character of 
Arthur in the 'Idylls of the King.'" 

We cannot agree with its Exchange editor as to all Lit. work being 
done by undergraduates. We feel that our alumna? do not become aliens 
the day they leave College ; they still belong to the College. So why should 
they not write for its Magazine ? 

In the same monthly an exquisite bit of verse is worth quoting : — 


Glimmering in the roseate dawn, 

Far in yon purpling west, 
Calm in the starry skies of night, 

Deep in the sad sea's breast, 
A spirit waits. 

Muttering in the storm-cloud's gloom, 

Pale in the heaven's glare, 
Whispering low in the forest shade, 

Bedewing each petal fair, 
A spirit waits. 

Waiting, sighing for some pure life 

To fathom its mystery, 
Longing some noble soul to find 

To render its beauty free, 
Beseeching waits. 


The Columbia Lit. is a very good number, with several strong things 
in it. "Beethoven, — A Study in the Manner of Carlyle," is effective and 
clever, though, of course, such open imitation can never be the best sort of 
writing. "Two Sabbaths" is suggestively written. The little poem on 
" Philosophy " has a melancholy turn that suggests premature pessimism, 
but it is strong and interesting : — 

" A-wandering through forests 
Where there's no light nor way, 
Whence there is no outcoming 
Into the sun's bright day; 
A search through tangled mazes; 
Merely a bitter play, 
Where wrinkled, graybeard children 
Pursue o'er land and sea 
Bubbles that burst in touching, 
That e'er elude and flee, 
Vain, foolish, galling plaything — 
This is philosophy." 

We heartily agree with the author of " A Springtide Homily," in the 
Yale Lit., in condemning that vein of youthful cynicism, "the yellow 
school," that turns up rather too often in the college magazines. It means 
either morbid feelings or valueless imitation, and in either case has no place 
in our lives. 

" As far as the East is from the West," in the Smith Monthly, will 
serve to illustrate this. The poem is clever and well finished, but it is thor- 
oughly unhealthy. The good style could be put to better use. 

" Plato on the Supreme Aim of Life," in the same monthly, is excellent, 
and shows careful thought. _ 

The Yale Lit. publishes a Junior Prize Oration on " The Democratic 
Idea in College Life." While it refers primarily to affairs at Yale, it may 
make us all think about the social conditions in our own colleges. The 
writer speaks strongly of the mistaken attitude of the students toward the 
societies, of the wire-pulling, and false ambitions centering on society mem- 
bership. He urges a manly freedom of speech. It is an interesting and 
important article. 

The University Courier publishes a good sketch, " An Odd, Old 


The Amherst Lit. contains a sad but interesting picture of the colle- 
gian as he writes his letters, "And He Wrote, Saying;" a careful " Study 
of Vanity Fair," and a particularly good bit of fiction, " The Disciple of 

From the University of Virginia Magazine we select "Not Quite a 
Prodigal," as deserving notice, and amid the large amount of verse, "Thy 
Name," as perhaps the best. 

There is, in general, some excellent verse in the April magazines, and 
we regret that we have no further space for quoting. 


At Wellesley. Legenda for 1896. G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York 
and London. 

The College in general, and Ninety-Six in particular, have good reason 
to be proud of the Legenda. The idea of a legacy of college stories, instead 
of the traditional compilation of incidents more or less well known and 
faded, is admirable. The stories themselves it is not easy to estimate fairly 
from so near a standpoint. We have no perspective for them. It is as hard 
to judge of them as of the college life itself; we cannot see the wood for 
the trees. Written, perhaps, with somewhat less art than certain other 
stories of college girls, they have a most excellent quality of conscientious- 
ness, which makes the strongest possible appeal to us who can value it. 
These never deliberately sacrifice probability to prettiness ; the writers aim 
always to give as faithful a rendering as may be of the college life as they 
find it. To be sure, we must all have our little fling of criticism at this as 
at all things. One regret expressed is that so many of the stories depend 
for their interest upon the male element involved, whereas the most char- 
acteristic and most heartily enjoyed college life is indeed quite independent 
of men. Another possible improvement suggested is a greater proportion 
of the "fine" quality, which is, to be sure, well brought out in some of the 
stories. Many people, too, wish that the picturesqueness of Tree Day had 
been used as a background somewhere. Yet, on the whole, the pleasure we 
take in the reading is very great, — so great that it is hard to believe the in- 
terest is merely local. 


The Revue Philosophigue for April and the New Review for March, ■ 
contain notices of Miss Thompson's book, The Unity of Fichte's Doctrine of 
Knowledge. The latter review is by Miss Calkins, and contains both a sum- 
mary and a criticism of the book. After quoting from Professor Royce the 
remark, in his introduction, "Miss Thompson's interpretation will be found 
to be as independent and original as it is devoted and painstaking," Miss 
Calkins adds: "The author has desired only to give a clear and forcible 
presentation of Fichte's system, but, partly through the reaction of her own 
thought upon the doctrine she studies, partly through the virility and the 
directness of her style, she gains a power which is her own, not Fichte's, 
over the convictions of the reader." 

We quote also the closing paragraph of the review : " An Appendix of 
more than a hundred pages substantiates every important position of the 
monograph, by quotations from all the principal works of Fichte, with an 
outline of his most forcible presentations of the doctrine in question. The 
combination of quotation and comment is a marvel of scholarship and good 
judgment. . . . Indeed, it is safe to say that no one can now afford to 
undertake the serious study of Fichte's philosophy without the expository 
and the philological assistance of this book." 

Association : an Essay Analytical and Experimental, by Mary Whiton 
Calkins, appeared as a monograph supplement to the Psychological Review 
for February. The purpose of this monograph is to show that association is 
not a " psychic force " or an " activity of self," but a content of the mind, — 
a mental state : that there is no continuous power in the mind, or process, 
to which we give the name association, but that each individual association 
is a content of the mind — a state induced. Hoffding's and Wundt's theories 
are discussed, and the reasons for considering their position untenable made 
clear. Miss Calkins's own definition of association is explained and made 
good. In this theory, as in many other psychological beliefs, Miss Calkins 
agrees with Professor Miinsterberg of Harvard ; but the development and 
elaboration in this monograph of her subject, the nature of association, and 
the new and complete classification made of cases of association, are her 
own contributions to psychological study. 

An interesting series of experiments made at Wellesley and Harvard, 
to determine under what conditions of association things are best remem- 


bered, is given in the last third of the pamphlet. The experiments were on 
association by sight and by hearing. It was found that things were better 
recalled by reason of frequent repetition of the associated sights or sounds 
than for their primacy, recency, or even for vividness. This is of interest 
both to students ' ' learning lessons " and to sociologists trying to better the 
environments of the poor. We quote from Miss Calkins's closing remarks in 
this connection : " This significance of frequency is rather surprising. For 
though everybody recognizes the importance of repetition in forming associ- 
ations, we are yet more accustomed to ' account for ' these by referring to 
recent or to impressive combinations. 

" But this does not affect the importance of frequency as a corrective in- 
fluence. Granted a sufficient number of repetitions, it seems possible to 
supplement, if not actually to supplant, associations which have been formed 
through impressive or through recent experiences. . . . 

" The prominence of frequency is of course of grave importance, for it 
means the possibility of exercising some control over the life of the imagi- 
nation, and of definitely combating harmful or troublesome associations." 

The American Journal of Psychology for April contains an interesting 
" Study of theDi'eam Consciousness," by three of our psychologists, past and 
present, Miss Weed, Miss Hallam, and Miss Phinney. 

The general tendency of the study, which is based on the careful obser- 
vation of nearly four hundred dreams, is to show that in spite of the capri- 
ciousness and the irrationality of dream life, it has nevertheless an essential 
continuity with the waking experience. Thus these dreamers find memory, 
thought, choice, and aesthetic enjoyment in their dreams. The presence of 
reasoning — though in this case from very absurd premises — is illustrated 
by the following exact copy from a dream-record : Dream 15 (The dreamer 
was waked by the rising-bell, but fell asleep again) : " The devil came and 
suggested that he would change my self-consciousness, making me over into 
a person with no pressing duties, then allowing me to sleep as late as I 
wished without interference of conscience. I recognized that the suggestion 
was from the devil, and after considering the matter decided that I would 
not accept the offer, since the devil would probably cheat me." 


Copies of this study, and of the other published reports of investigations 
of the Wellesley Psychological Laboratory, may be found in a pamphlet case 
on the small bookcase near the library stairs. 

An attractive little volume in the Athenaeum Press Series comes to us. 
Poems by John Keats. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by Arlo Bates. 

Its gray-green binding with its gilt letters is very neat and pleas- 
ing, and when we open the volume the face of the poet greets us on its first 
page. The introduction includes a brief biographical sketch, an appreciation 
of Keats's character and genius, and an estimate of his work which is suggest- 
ive, sympathetic, and much to the point. 

Mr. Bates discards the usual arrangement of the poems, leaving out 
much of the early work as well as many posthumous poems, while he places 
first the great odes, desiring thus to give the reader who for the first time 
comes to Keats's poems, a more just impression of them than would be re- 
ceived from the customary order. 

The poems are not overloaded with notes, but those which are given 
are chiefly illustrative, suggestive as to sources of poems, and literary. 

We have received from Ginn & Co. an Elementary German Reader, by 
O. B. Super, Professor of Modern Languages in Dickinson College. 

The principle which he has pursued in this little book is, as he states it, 
this, "It is never possible to make the work too easy for your pupils." 
Consequently, all the reading contained in it is of the simplest character. 
Part I. gives very short selections which require almost no knowledge of 
grammar. This is followed by short stories, then by easy historical selec- 
tions, and the last part consists in a small collection of short poems. The 
notes explain all the idioms found in the selections, and there is a good 


The Adelphoe of Terence; edited by Wm. L. Cowles, A.M. Leach, 
Shewell & Sanborn. 



A meeting of Society Zeta Alpha was held April 11. The following 
programme was presented : — 

I. Russia's Political History in Outline . Miss Wright. 

Miss Burnett. 

Miss Evans. 

Miss Hoyt. 

Miss Howland. 

Miss Brotherton. 

II. Present Political Condition of Russia 

III. Nihilism 

IV. Russian Songs .... 

V. The Siberian System . 
Current Topic : The Olympian Games 

A regular meeting of the Tau Zeta Epsilon Society was held in Tau 
Zeta Epsilon Hall, Saturday evening, April 11. The programme was as 
follows : — 

Lake Country. 

I. a. Paper: Wordsworth. 

Selections from Wordsworth . Miss Jauch. 

n. a. Paper: <„ , ,./ > . . . Miss Piper. 

b. Selections from Coleridge . . Miss Dudley. 

The Society will be entertained on Monday, May 4, by Mrs. Warren, 
at'her home, 67 Mt. Vernon Street, Boston. 

At the regular meeting of the Agora in Elocution Hall, April 15, 
Louise Hutcheson, '97, was received into the Society. 

The following extemporaneous speeches on current topics were given : — 
The Cuban Resolutions .... Joanna Parker. 

The English in Africa . . . Mary Cross. 

The Significance of Crispi's Downfall . Frances Rousmaniere. 

The programme of the evening was on the currency question. 

Free Silver Mary North. 

The Gold Standard Sarah Hadley. 

Bimetallism Helen Buttrick. 

Debate : Should the Fifty-Fourth Congress Adopt Bimetallism ? Lead- 
ers, Joanna Parker and Miriam Hathaway. 

Annie Vinal, '94, was present at the meeting. 



Elisabeth Higgins. 

Bertha Straight. 

Mary McLean. 

A regular meeting of the Shakespeare Society was held April 25. The 
following programme was presented : — 

I. Shakespeare News .... 
II. Comparative Poetic Styles of Shakes- 
peare and Browning 

III. Dramatic Representation, As You Like 

It, Act III., Scenes 4 and 5 . 

IV. The Point of View ; Youth and Old Age 

in the Earlier and Later Work of 

Shakespeare and Browning . 

V. Dramatic Representation, King Lear, 

Act III., Scene 2 ... 

VI. Debate: 

Do Browning's Dramas Argue Condi- 
tions in the Nineteenth Century Un- 
favorable to Dramatic Expression ? 

Miss Blake, '95, was present at the meeting. 

Miss Annie J. Cannon received the Society at her home in the village 
on Saturday afternoon, April 11, and Mrs. Rothery on Monday, the 27th. 
The Society held its annual birthday celebration on Friday evening, April 

A regular meeting of the Phi Sigma Society was held at the house of 
Miss Bates on Saturday evening, April 25. The following was the 
programme : — 


I. Shelley's Conception of Love as seen in 
the Epipsychidion 
II. The Music in Shelley's Lyrics 
Song : The Indian Serenade 
III. Shelley's Conception of Immortality 
P7. Shelley's Treatment of Nature 

Emily Baxter. 
Eunice Smith. 

Katherine Pinkham. 



College opened April 7. 

Miss Elizabeth Seelrnan, '98, who had been forced by illness to leave 
before the end of the term, returned to college during vacation, to remain 
until the end of the term. 

Miss Anne Bixby, '97, contracted malignant diphtheria in New York 
during vacation, and was in a critical condition for several days at the Mil- 
lard Parker Hospital. She is now steadily improving. 

The freshman crews were organized durinsr the first week of the term. 
Miss Griswold was made captain of the crew proper. There are five " tem- 
porary crews," whose captains are Misses Laird, Hemphill, Bishop, McCam- 
raon, and Thayer. Including coaches and substitutes, there are in all ninety 
freshmen in crew work. The freshman basket-ball was also organized, with 
Miss Burt as captain. 

On April 9 about thirty pupils from the New York State Library 
School, Albany, visited the College. Miss Matilda Avery, Wellesley, '91, 
was in charge of the party, which included a number of other former Welles- 
ley students. 

On the evening of the same day Mr. Amos Wells, editor of the Golden 
Rule, was present at the weekly prayer meeting. 

At a meeting of the Class of Ninety-seven on April 10, Miss Haskell 
resigned her office as first junior historian. Miss Baxter was declared elec- 
ted in Miss Haskell's place. 

The lecture in the Current Topics course on Saturday, April 11, was 
given by Miss Cecilia Waern, of New York City, who has studied art in most 
European countries. The subject was " How to Judge a Picture," and Miss 
Waern illustrated points from pictures in the college collections. 

Dean Hodges, of the Cambridge School of Divinity, preached in the 
chapel on April 12, and in the afternoon read, by request, one of his Lowell 
lectures, " How to Make the Indifferent Different." 


In the evening the usual Easter vesper service took place. The Bee- 
thoven Society and the Glee Club took choral parts. The soloists were 
Misses Battison, Chapman, Ely, and Gilchrist. 

President Andrews, of Brown, lectured Monday evening, April 13, on 
"Liberalism in Politics." 

The '97 crew w r ent out on the lake April 14 ; it was the first to appear 
this year. 

Professor James lectured to the Philosophical Club of Harvard, April 
15. Miss Calkins and some of her department heard him. 

Mr. Alpheus Hyatt lectured in the Natural History Rooms, Boston, on 
" Evidences of the Descent of Man from the Ape." A deputation from the 
zoological department was present. 

Miss Dudley, head w r oi'ker at Denison House, gave a talk in the after- 
noon about the new house, 91 Tyler Street, to be added to Denison House. 
The Wellesley undergraduate chapter wishes to furnish the first floor of the 
house, which is to be thrown into one large room. The graduate chapter is to 
lay a hard wood floor. 

Miss H. M. Bennett resigned from her position as Special Editor of the 
Magazine, April 15. Miss Eddy, Special, was elected in Miss Bennett's 

"At Wellesley," the '96 "Legenda," was put on sale in the first floor 
centre, April 16. This is a book of stories and verse based on college life 
at Wellesley. The statistical lists published heretofore in the "Legendas" 
will appear this year in a separate issue. 

On Saturday evening, April 18, Mr. George Riddle gave a reading of 
Macbeth in the chapel. Many of those who compared his rendering with 
that of Irving and Terry find the balance of power and imagination in favor 
of Mr. Riddle. 

On April 18 the Junior reception was given to the Freshmen. A play 
was presented, called an Intercollegiate Match, written by four of the prin- 
cipal actors, Miss Crumb, Miss Dennison, Miss Brotherton, and Miss Free- 


Rev. Mr. B. D. Halm, of Springfield, preached on April 19. 

Mr. William Hamilton Gibson gave a lecture on Monday evening, the 
20th, illustrated by his remarkable floral charts. 

The announcement of the Summer School shows more courses than ever 

before. The dates are from July 8 to August 19. The courses are as fol- 
lows : — 

Two courses in Natural History . . . Mr. A. P. Morse. 

Two " " English and American History Miss Kendall. 

Three " " German .... Friiulein Miiller. 

Three " " French .... Mdlle. Roth. 

Two " " Greek and Latin . . Dr. Webster. 

It is announced that Friiulein Beinhorn will conduct a traveling party 
through Europe in the summer, and then open a pension at her home in 

On Thursday the 23d a party of about thirty chaperoned by Miss 
Bates, Miss Woolley, and Dr. Roberts, saw Irving and Terry's Macbeth. 

At a meeting of the Class of '99, April 24, the resignation of Miss 
McFarland, the president of the Class, was accepted. Miss Plympton was 
elected president in Miss McFarland's stead. 

A mass meeting was held April 24 to consider the matter of a College 
Athletic Association. A constitution for an association, which should be 
known as the Wellesley College Athletic Association, was appi'oved by the 
students and submitted to the Academic Council. 

The Current Topics lecture, April 25, was on "Political Science," by 
Mrs. J. Ellen Foster, of Iowa, President of the Women's National Republi- 
can Club. 

Mr. J. W. A. Stewart, of Rochester, N. Y., preached in the chapel on 
April 26. 

Miss Andrews and Mr. Wilhelm Heinrich, tenor, gave a concert Mon- 
day evening, the 27th, in the chapel. 


May Day was celebrated by the Seniors with caps, gowns and hoops, 
after Ninety-Five's precedent. Ninety-Six added a May Day flower dance. 

Mr. Ward, of the Boston Herald, gave a talk to Miss Willcox's class 
in Journalism, on the afternoon of May Day. 


Sunday, May 17. — Dr. Theodore L. Cuyler. 
Monday, May 18. — Beethoven Concert. 
Saturday, May 23. — Mr. Dutton. 
Friday, May 29.— Glee Club Concert. 
Monday, June 1. — Students' Concert. 
Friday, June 5. — Tree Day. 
Sunday, June 7. — Dr. McKenzie. 


All Wellesley alumnse, and all former members of the College, are 
referred to the articles in this issue of the Magazine under the head, " The 
College Beautiful," to the leading editorial and to the Free Press. 

The Chicago Wellesley Club met on Saturday, March 14, in the parlors 
of the Le Moyne building. After a delightful talk by Prof. Win. Tomlins 
upon "The Song Faculty," an informal reception was held and tea served. 
Mrs. Alice Hinchliff Lay was chairman of the entertainment committee. 
About forty Wellesley girls were present. 

The Boston Wellesley College Club assembled at " The Thorndike," 
Boston, Saturday, April 18, for its annual luncheon, and a large and merry 
company joined in the festivities of the afternoon. Retta L. Winslow, '88, 
President of the club, was toastmistress, and introduced the following " feast 
of reason": "Out of Academic Groves and Grooves," Louise Manning 
Hodgkins ; "Wellesley's Youngest Daughters," Mary C. Adams, '95; 
"Vocal Music," Alice S. Clement, '91; "Wellesley's Second Generation," 
Alice Jones Shedd, '93 ; " The College Beautiful," Katharine Lee Bates, '80. 


The meeting was voted quite the social success of the club's history. Among 
the guests of the afternoon were Harriet R. Pierce, '88, Westboro, and Mrs. 
Marion Parker Perrin, '91, Rochester, N. Y. 

The Cleveland Wellesley Club held its April meeting at the home of 
Mrs. Helen Pope Stanley, and was well attended. The programme for the 
afternoon was arranged with the idea of making the members more intelligent 
regarding Wellesley matters. The topics informally presented and discussed 
were, " Requirements for Admission to the Various Women's Colleges," "The 
New Curriculum," "Recent Changes," and "Special Advantages of Welles- 
ley." All were glad to hear of the progress that has been made in the College, 
and were proud of being Wellesley's daughters. After light refreshments 
Alma Mater was sung, the Wellesley cheer given, and a most delightful 
afternoon was at an end. The new officers are Miss Louise Pope, '91, presi- 
dent ; Miss Faith Barkwill, '93, vice president; Miss Lydia O. Pennington, 
'93, secretary ; and Miss Frances Seaton, '88, treasurer. The club holds 
quarterly meetings this year. 

The annual business meeting of the New York Wellesley Club was held 
on Saturday, April 25, at the home of Mrs. R. H. M. Danbarn. Officers 
for the coming year were elected as follows : President, Miss Bertha Bailey, 
'88 ; Vice President, Mrs. Harriet Scoville Devan, '83 ; Secretary, Mrs. 
Henrietta Wells Livermore, '87 ; Executive Committee, Mrs. Frances Pear- 
sons Plympton, '84, Miss Grace Underwood, '92, Miss Annette Finnegan, 
'94; Reception Committee, Mrs. Stella Stickney van Laer, '84, Mrs. Edwina 
Shearn Chadwick, '80, Miss Louise Brown, '92 ; Press Committee, Miss 
Bertha Palmer, '91, Miss Dora B. Emerson, '92, Mrs. Virginia Yeaman 
Remmitz, '83-86 ; College Settlement Committee, Miss Grace Underwood, 
'92, Miss Elsie Pierce, '91-92, Miss Candace Stimson, '92. 

Miss Vida D. Scudder read a paper on "The Greek Spirit in Shelley and 
Browning," April 28, before the Boston Browning Society. 

The Nation announces that "on March 6 the faculty of the University 
of Heidelberg conferred the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy magna cum 
laude on Miss Alice H. Luce, who after graduating at an American Univer- 
sity devoted herself to philosophy at Leipzig and Heidelberg." Miss Luce 
is a member of Wellesley, '83. 


Miss Una Lodor, '86, is teaching in Miss Gordon's School, 4112 Spruce 
Street, Philadelphia. 

Miss Margaret T. Algoe, '88, is teaching in the High School, Muskegon, 
Mich. Address, 235 Jefferson Street. 

The engagement of Miss Vinnette Crain, '88, is announced. 

A picture of the son of Mrs. Florence Yost Humphries, teacher in Latin, 
'88-89, is on the cover of the April number of Babyland, as a picture of an 
unusually stalwart lad of one year. 

Miss Harriet L. Constantine, '89, spent her spring vacation in Washing- 
ton, with Miss Elizabeth Mayse, '92. At the same time Miss May Banta, 
'89, was visiting Miss Emma Teller, '89. 

Miss Hai-riet L. Constantine sails for England, Scotland, and Holland 
June 20. She returns September 2. 

Miss Katharine Lane, '89, sails for Europe June 27, to spend the sum- 
mer months. 

Miss Emma Teller, '89, visited her classmate, Miss Grace Andrews, in 
New York, the last ten days of March. 

Miss Caroline Williamson, '89, spent the first week of April in Wash- 
ington, then came on through Philadelphia to Wellesley for two days. 

Miss Julia A. Haynes, '87-89, is teaching Science in the Emma Willard 
School, Troy, N. Y. 

Miss Mabel Doolittle, '90, lives at 78 Warburton Avenue, Yonkers, 
N. Y., and teaches in the Yonkers High School. 

Miss Mary L. Fish, '90, is teaching in the High School, Brunswick, 

Miss Charlotte E. Halsey, '90, is teaching in the High School of Oil 
City, Pa. Her addi'ess is 318 Central Avenue. 

Miss Ethel Glover, '90, sailed for Europe April 25. 

Miss Alma Beale, '91, is teaching in the High School, Naugatuck, Conn. 


Miss Louise Danielson, '91, is teaching in the New Britain, Conn., 
High School. 

Miss Clara E. Emerson, '91, is teaching Greek in the North Wisconsin 
Academy, Ashland, Wis. 

Miss Mabel Frost, '91, is teaching music, and is organist of a church in 
South Manchester, Conn. 

Miss M. Emogene Hazeltine, '91, has an article, "Maintaining the Pub- 
lic Library by Endowment," in The Library Journal for March, 1896. 

Miss Bertha Palmer, '91, will spend the summer in Europe with Profes- 
sor and Mrs. Palmer. 

Mrs. Sue Tayler Grimley, '91, with Mr. Grimley, spent a few hours at 
the College late in February. Mrs. Grimley was in America for a month's 
visit with her parents in Orange, N. J. 

Miss Ada Woolfolk, '91, spent her spring vacation with Miss Amy 
Mothershead, '91, in New York. 

Miss Edith Bancroft, '92, spent several days at the College the second 
week in April. 

Miss Katharine Eliot, '92, has been visiting Miss Bettie Keith, '93, in 
Selma, Ala. 

Miss Dora Bay Emerson, '92, has had a class in physiology at the New 
York Settlement during the winter. 

Miss Henrietta A. Mirick, '92, is keeping house for her uncle in Ana- 
mora, la., as well as doing work toward a master's degree. 

The engagement of Miss Evelyn E. Parkes, '92, to Mr. Floyd Adams, 
of the Theological Seminary of Rochester University, is announced. 

Miss Candace Stimson, '92, has secured money to furnish a room at the 
New York Settlement. 

Miss Candace Stimson, '92, sailed for Greece the latter part of April. 

Miss Harriet B. Chapman, 93, took her degree of M. D. at Cleveland 
Medical College, March 18. 


Miss Mabel McDuflee, '93, has been teaching in Kent, El Paso Co., 

Miss Edna C. Spaulding, '93, is teaching in St. Mary's School, 8 East 
46th Street, New York City. 

Miss Matilda Goulding, '91-93, visited the College April 10. 

Miss Anna H. Blauvelt, '94, is teaching in the Vail-Dean School, 
Elizabeth, New Jersey. 

Miss Grace B. Carr, '94, is High School assistant in Wilton, N. H. 

Miss Susie W. Eaton, '94, is teaching in the Dan vers, Mass., High 

Miss Bertha Jackson, '94, is teaching as High School assistant in Oak- 
land, Me. 

Miss Jennette Moulton, '94, is teaching in Power's Institute, Bernard- 
ston, Mass. 

Miss Helen Stahr, '94, is teaching in the High School at her home, 
Lancaster, Pa. 

Miss Mary Elizabeth Hart, '92-94, is teaching Biology in Western 
College, Oxford, Ohio. 

Miss Avery, '91, Miss Newman,' 92, Miss Pond, '93, Miss Bullock, Sp., 
'92-94, were with a class from the Albany Library School, April 9, at 

Miss Edith S. Boardman, '95, is teaching in Taylersville, R. I. 

Miss Ida M. Brooks, '95, is teaching in the High School, Hubbardston 
Centre, Mass. 

Miss Winifred E. Hill, '95, is teaching in the Ashby, Mass., High 

Miss Abby W. Howes, '94-95, is teaching in Wakefield, Mass. Ad- 
dress, 7 Salem Street. 

Miss Mabel Smith, '95, is principal of the Granby High School. Ad- 
dress, 40 Mt. Vernon Street, Charlestown, Mass. 


Miss Marion Lee Taylor, '95, is teaching during the spring term at 
Troy Conference Academy, Poultney, Vt. 

Miss E. R. Waite, '95, is assistant in Bacon Academy, Colchester, 

Miss Grace Woodin, '95, is assistant in the Elizabethtown, N. Y., Union 

The comedy, "Ralph Roister Doister," was reproduced at Cincinnati 
by the College Club, April 28, 1896, for the benefit of the Social Settlement. 
Among the dramatis personal were Mary Young Allison, '90, Mary 
Isham, '94, Sarah Hickenlooper, '94, Adelaide Miller, '94. 

It is proposed to introduce the most modern system of instruction in 
the sewing clubs of the New York College Settlement. To this end a 
training class has been formed of resident and outside workers, conducted by 
Mrs. L. T. Robinson, directress of sewing in the industrial school of the 
Church of the Holy Communion, New York. 

A conference on children's sewing was held at the Settlement Friday, 
April 3. Addresses were made by ladies of long experience with industrial 
training, and examples of sewing were shown from French, German, Eng- 
lish and Danish, as well as American schools. 

Miss Caroline L. Williamson, '89, spent a part of April at 95 Riving- 
ton Street. 

The little Kindergarten children have experienced all the joy of spring- 
time, watching the crocuses come up in the back yard. Everyone has begun 
to talk now of the country. 


The surroundings of the Settlement have undergone a complete change 
during the last year. The tenements along Carver, Seventh and Lombard 
Streets have been torn down, and the space is to be converted into a park 
and playground. This is due to the efforts of the Settlement. The houses 
facing this cleared space have undergone repairs, and the Coflee House on 
the corner of Lombard and Seventh is an immense improvement over the 
ramshackle tenements which formerly occupied the site. 


The Coffee House is in charge of one of the residents, and is already well 
patronized. The second floor is occupied by the Library, now under the 
charge of the Free Library Association. Some of the rooms over the Coffee 
House have been fitted up for residents. Swarthmore has furnished one in 
the college colors, and the Bryn Mawr girls have money ready for another. 

Miss Sara Groft", '89, and Miss Helen Foss, '94, have had coal clubs at 
the Settlement during the winter. 

Miss Mary Marvel 1, '94, spent the first week in April at the Settlement. 

Miss Caroline L. Williamson, '89, was at the Settlement April 6-13. 
She spent one of these days with her classmates, Misses Mary L. Bean Jones 
and Mary E. Stinson, in Norristown. 


April 3, 1896, in Lansingburgh, N. Y., a second son to Mrs. Kate 
Hicks Brown, '89. 

April 13, 1896, in New Britain, Conn., a daughter, Elizabeth Stern- 
berg, to Mrs. Amalie Sternberg Traut, '91. 


The mother of Hattie Howe, '89. 

February 3, 1896, at his home in Terry ville, Conn., J. W. Clark, 
father of Mabel Clark, '92. 

April 3, 1896, at the Vail-Dean School, Elizabeth, N. J., after an 
illness of three days, Miss Belle F. Eggleston, '90-91. J 

April 4, 1896, at her home in West Philadelphia, after a long and 
tedious illness, Bessie R. Mackey, of the Class of '89. 



202 to 212 Boylston Street, and Park Square, 


In Every Department. 

Young Ladies' Jackets and Gapes, 

Tailor Made Covert Coats . $18. 
Lined throughout with fancy silks. 

New Dept. for Ladies' Suits » »<* 

Special Line of Street Costumes, all 
on silk, equal in every way to order 
work . . . $33.50 to $42. 

Serge Outing Suits . . . $18. 

New Designs in Bicycle and Golf Suits, 
from $18 to $35. Our most popular 
line, $25 Jackets, silk lined. 

'OUR attention is called to our assortment of 

Jewelry and Silverware 


ARTICLES for the Toilet Table and 
Writing Desk, in artistic patterns, 
a specialty. 

The newest designs of Fancy Jewelry, 
Hair Ornaments, Fans, and Opera 
Glasses in stock. 

We respectfully invite you to visit our store, whether you purchase or not. 

A. StOWell & Co., 24 Winter Street, Boston. 

Cotrell & Leonard 

New York, 

Makers of 

Caps and 


Illustrated . .. 

Catalogue and 
© Particulars on 

Artists' Materials . . . 

g*. Drafting Instruments. 
Art Studies and Books. 

Oil and Water Colors, Crayons, Materials 
For Tapestry, Painting, etc. 

Wadsworth, Howland & Co. 


82 and 84 Washington Street, Boston. 

Branch Store in the 

Grundmann Studios, Clarendon Street, 

Near St. James Avenue. 
Principal Factories 

Maiden, Mass., and South Paris, Maine. 



Mackintoshes and Cravenettes, 


S2.00 TO $25.00. 

IHellesley Preparatory, 

Prices 25 per cent lower than Dry Goods Stores. 

. . . Special IO per cent to Wellesley Students . . . 



Metropolitan Rubber Co., 

Miss Charlotte H. Conant, B.A 


Miss Florence Bigelow, M.A. 


Gloves and Veiling. 



Calls the attention of the Young Ladies to her stock of Kid, Undressed Kid, and Dog Skin Gloves that 

are suitable for all occasions, also her very becoming stock of Veilings, and solicits their 

patronage, and will give to any of the students 6 per cent discount. 

Hotel Bellevue, 




Special attention given to Club Dinners and Receptions. 




fflatnematical Instruments, 

Colors, Drawing Papers, Blue Process Papers, T Squares 

Scales, Curves, Triangles, and all kinds of 

Architects' and Engineers' Supplies, 


. . AT . . 

Frost & Adams Co. 

Importers, Wholesale and Retail Dealers. 

New Catalogue free on application. 
. Special Discount to Students of Wellesley . . 


10 times out of 10 

The New York Journal recently offered ten bicy- 
cles to the ten winners in a guessing contest, leaving 
the choice of machine to each. All 



Nine immediately, and one after he 
had looked at others. The Journal 
therefore bought TEN Columbias 
at $100 each. 

On even terms a Columbia will be chosen 

TEN times out of TEN. 



1896 Art Catalogue for two 2-cent stamps. 

Shreve, Crump I Low Go. 

Jewelers *> Silversmith 


Fine Stationery. Card Engraving. 

Programs and Invitations, both printed and 
engraved. Class Day Programs a specialty. 

Class Pins designed and manufactured to 

Parasols and Umbrellas made to order, re- 
covered and repaired. 


. .ONLY. . 

First Class Tfpii Gar Boute 


Through Trains Leave Boston as follows : — 
8.30 a. m. (ex. Sunday) Day Express. 
10.30 a. m. (daily) Chicago Special. 
2.00 p. m. (daily) North Shore Limited. 
3.00 p. m. (ex. Sundays) St. Louis and 

Chicago Express. 
7.15 p. m. (daily) Pacific Express. 


. . FOR . . 

Hartford, New Haven *^New York. 


9.00 a. m. 
11.00 a. m. 
12.00 Noon 

4.00 p. m. 

(ex. Sunday) 
(ex. Sunday) 
(ex. Sunday) 


3.30 p. m. 

5.28 p. m. 

5.32 p. m. 

10.00 p. m. 

( New Equipment built by the Pullman Co.) 
11.00 p.m. (daily) 6.41a.m. 

For tickets, information, time-tables, etc., apply 
to nearest ticket agent. 


General Passenger Agent. 



Wishing to purchase the most correct styles 
in spring and summer 

Boots and Shoes 

at lowest prices 

should call at 


Odd Fellows Block, NATICK, MASS. 


344 Washington Street, Boston. 
Manufacturers of Fine 

Athletic Supplies. «£ 

Every requisite for 

Boating, Tennis, 

Basket Ball, Golf, 
and the Gymnasium. 


Beautiful illust'd catalogue 
sent free to any address. 

The Dana Hall School, 


Pupils are prepared for regular or for special courses at 
Wellesley College. 

Price for Board and Tuition, $500 for the school year ; 
Tuition for day pupils, $125. 

For further information address the Principals : 

Julia A. Eastman, 
Sarah P. Eastman. 

IKIleUcsle^ Ipbarmaap, 


Pure Drugs and Medicines. 

Physicians' Prescriptions a Specialty. 




Opposite Railroad Station, Wellesley. 

Flowers and Plants of the choicest varieties for all 
occasions; Palms, etc., to let for decoration. 

FLOWERS carefully packed and forwarded 
by Mail or Express to all parts of the United 
States and Canada. 

£5=* Orders by mail or otherwise promptly attended to. 
Connected by Telephone. 





Session '95-96 opens October 1, 1895. Four years, Graded Course. Instruction 

by Lectures, Clinics, Recitations and practical work, under supervision in Laboratories 

and Dispensary of College, and in N. Y. Infirmary. Clinics and operations in most of 

the City Hospitals and Dispensaries open to Women Students. 

For Catalogues, etc., address 


321 East 15th Street, New York. 

The Fisk Teachers' Agencies. ^S for Young Ladies.. 

4 Ashburton Place, Boston, Mass. 

70 Fifth Avenue, New York City, N. Y. 
1242 Twelfth Street, Washington, D. C. 
355 Wabash Avenue, Chicago, 111. 

25 King Street, West Toronto, Canada. 

420 Century Building, Minneapolis, Minn. 

107 Keith & Perry Building, Kansas City, Mo. 
728 Cooper Building, Denver, Colo. 

525 Stimson Block, Los Angeles, Cal. 

Fine Millinery, 



21 Temple Place, Boston. 

H. W. DOWNS & CO. 

143 Tremont St., Boston. 

Gymnasium Shoes, 
Walking Shoes, 
Party Shoes. 

Special Discount to all Wellesley Students. 


Cor. Washington and Winter Sts., Boston. 

A Convincing Argument 

In favor of trading in Natick is the convenience of access 
by the electric cars, which run every half hour; also in 
the larger packages the saving of expense by express, 
breakage, delays, etc. 


French Hats and Bonnets, 

together with a choice selection of Foreign and 
Domestic Novelties for spring and summer. 

Also, full line of Dressmakers' Supplies. 

In my Framing Department I will allow a discount of 10 
per cent to Wellesley College Students. 

J. E. DeWITT, 


Books, Stationery, and Art Supplies, 

H. W. DOWNS & CO., 143 Tremont Street. 

Also Manufacturer of 

Picture Frames. Mats, etc. 
No. 2 Main Street, NATICK, MASS. 


Delightful New Books. 


Oak and Thorn. 

A Record of English Days. By Alice Brown, 
author of " Fools of Nature," " Meadow Grass," 
etc. i6mo, $1.25. 

Miss Brown has made a very attractive story of journey- 
ing through England, largely in Devon, one of its most 
fascinating and picturesque districts. It shows careful 
observation, and is good literature. 

The White mountains. 

A Guide to their Interpretation. By Julius H. 

Ward. New Edition, revised and enlarged. 

i2mo, $1.25. 

This book has enjoyed the hearty favor of visitors to the 
White Mountain region of New England. It is written 
from long and intimate acquaintance with the scenes it de- 
scribes, and with a genuine appreciation which enables 
him to interpret them adequately to those who have never 
visited them ; and this renders his book a welcome souvenir 
of an enchanted realm for those familiar with it. 

Tom Grogan. 

By F. Hopkinson Smith, author of a " Gentle- 
man Vagabond," "Colonel Carter of Carters- 
ville," etc. Beautifully printed and bound in 
a strikingly artistic style. Illustrated with 19 
designs by C S. Reinhart. Crown 8vo, $1.50. 

" Mr. Smith has succeeded in producing a stirring, 
thrilling, dramatic story, . . , and also has achieved a 
really remarkable study of a business woman. . . . 'Tom 
Grogan' is an unusual story, surcharged with human sym- 
pathy." — Nevj York Mail and Express. 

"'Tom Grogan,' the story of the woman who took a 
man's name and a man's place in the world, shows the 
same appreciation of character, the same quaint and origi- 
nal humor, and the same tender touch which has marked 
the literature already given by Mr. Smith to the world. 
While the narrative is notably fresh and novel, the author 
has parted with none of his genius of style, and Torn 
Grogan must claim our affection in her way almost as 
imperatively as Colonel Carter in his." — Brooklyn Stand- 



Fraulein Anna Beinhorn, Instructor at Wellesley College for 
the past three years, proposes to open a Pension for Americans in 
Brunswick, Germany. 

Board, $30.00 a month; German spoken at table; lessons extra. 

For further particulars please address 


Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

After July 1st: 

Neuer Weg 14, Brunswick, Germany 


:»:{."> Washington Street, Boston. 

College Athletic and Qymnasium Outfitters. 


Crew Sweaters and Jerseys, which are also suitable for all athletic purposes, made to order in any 

style in the best manner. 
A Discount of 10 per cent is given Wellesley students on individual orders. Special net rates for crew or team orders. 

We have a good stock of 

Veilings, Ribbons, Kid Gloves, 

Hosiery, . Cretonnes, . Drapery Muslins, . and all kinds of Embroidery Silks. 

We do Stamping at Short notice. 10 per cent Discount to all Wellesley College Students. 




@ Ladies' Sailor and 

®® English Walking Hats 

exclusive styles. Of our own importation. 


SHOES.— . 

All the latest styles in Narrow, Medium, and Wide Toes. 
Special attention given to making shapes recommended by leading surgeons. 
Button and Lace Boots and Oxford Ties, in Black, Russet, and Patent Leather. 
The largest assortment of Bicycle and Tennis Goods to be found in Boston. 
Party and Graduation Shoes in great variety. 

Discount to Faculty and Students of Wellesley College. 


469 Washington Street, Boston. 



THE PLACE where all the best makes of French and American Corsets and Waists can be found, 

and at prices from one dollar upward. 
WE FIT our Corsets and Waists perfectly to the wearer before she leaves our parlors. We know 

how, and we take the time to do it. 
WE MAKE ALL MODIFICATIONS necessary to secure a perfect fit, and we help you to determine 

which Corset or which Waist is best suited to your individual case. 
MADAME GORDON will give you her personal attention, which fact alone guarantees perfect fitting 

UNDERWEAR — The daintiest designs imaginable. You will delight in our Underwear. Nothing 

commonplace. Exclusive designs. Complete sets for summer. 


In every department of our store we allow Wellesley Professors and 
Students a discount, generally 10 per cent. 

We deliver all goods free of express charges at Wellesley College and Dana Hall. 

During the year you will notice many attractive goods which your friends at home 
would be glad to see. We shall be glad to send samples at your request. 

Dress Goods, Hosiery, Neckwear, Millinery, 
Underwear and Art Embroideries 

are perhaps some of the departments most interesting to students, but the discount applies 
to every department. 


Tremont Street and Temple Place, - - BOSTON, MASS. 












■3 "> 



and T 












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(75. a 








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Ladies' and Children's 

Specialty Garment House. 

Young Ladies' Coats, Suits, 
Wraps, Fur Capes, Mackin- 
toshes, and Cravenette Gar- 

The Latest Paris and Berlin Novelties 

always in stock 

at moderate prices . . 

531 and 533 Washington Street, Boston 

Next door to Boston Theatre. 

Frank Wood, Printer, Boston.